^'J^JFY  •        ':^l»-"     " 


WHITNEY  AND 
GRACE  UFFORD 


• 


u 


— • :    •' 


«r  ZlfeSv  -  'i'-Wi-t 


RAMONA. 


A    STORY. 


BY   HELEN   JACKSON 
(H.  H.), 

AUTHOR  OF  "VERSES,"  "BITS  OF  TRAVEL,"  "BITS  OF  TRAVEL  AT  HOME. 
"BITS  OF  TALK  ABOUT  HOMB  MATTERS,"  ETC 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS 
1889 


Copyright,  1SS4, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON.  CAMBRIDGE. 


Stack 
Annex 

PS 

Z.IO? 

Rl4 

186ft 


KAMONA. 


I. 

IT  was  sheep-shearing  time  in  Southern  California ; 
but  sheep-shearing  was  late  at  the  Seiiora  Moreno's. 
The  Fates  liad  seemed  to  combine  to  put  it  off.  In 
the  first  place,  Felipe  Moreno  had  been  ill.  He  was 
the  Senora's  eldest  son,  and  since  his  father's  death 
had  been  at  the  head  of  his  mother's  house.  With 
out  him,  nothing  could  be  done  on  the  ranch,  the 
Seiiora  thought.  It  had  been  always,  "  Ask  Senor 
Felipe,"  "  Go  to  Senor  Felipe,"  "  Senor  Felipe  will 
attend  to  it,"  ever  since  Felipe  had  had  the  dawniug 
of  a  beard  on  his  handsome  face. 

In  truth,  it  was  not  Felipe,  but  the  Senora,  who 
really  decided  all  questions  from  greatest  to  least, 
and  managed  everything  on  the  place,  from  the  sheep- 
pastures  to  the  artichoke-patch ;  but  nobody  except 
the  Senora  herself  knew  this.  An  exceedingly  clever 
woman  for  her  day  and  generation  was  Sefiora  Gon- 
zaga  Moreno, — as  for  that  matter,  exceedingly  clever 
for  any  day  and  generation  ;  but  exceptionally  clever 
for  the  day  and  generation  to  which  she  belonged. 
Her  life,  the  mere  surface  of  it,  if  it  had  been  written, 
would  have  made  a  romance,  to  grow  hot  and  cold 
over  :  sixty  years  of  the  best  of  old  Spain  and  the 
wildest  of  New  Spain,  Bay  of  Biscay,  Gulf  of  Mexico, 

1 


2  RAMONA. 

Pacific  Ocean,  —  the  waves  of  them  all  had  tossed 
destinies  for  the  Seiiora.  The  Holy  Catholic  Church 
had  had  its  arms  round  her  from  first  to  last ;  and 
that  was  what  had  brought  her  safe  through,  she 
would  have  said,  if  she  had  ever  said  anything  ahout 
herself,  which  she  never  did,  — one  of  her  many  wis 
doms.  So  quiet,  so  reserved,  so  gentle  an  exterior 
never  was  known  to  veil  such  an  imperious  and  pas 
sionate  nature,  brimful  of  storm,  always  passing 
through  stress ;  never  thwarted,  except  at  peril  of 
those  who  did  it ;  adored  and  hated  by  turns,  and 
each  at  the  hottest.  A  tremendous  force,  wherever 
she  appeared,  was  Seiiora  Moreno ;  but  no  stranger 
would  suspect  it,  to  see  her  gliding  about,  in  her 
scanty  black  gown,  with  her  rosary  hanging  at  her 
side,  her  soft  dark  eyes  cast  down,  and  an  expression 
of  mingled  melancholy  and  devotion  on  her  face. 
She  looked  simply  like  a  sad,  spiritual-minded  old 
lady,  amiable  and  indolent,  like  her  race,  but  sweeter 
and  more  thoughtful  than  their  wont.  Her  voice 
heightened  this  mistaken  impression.  She  was  never 
heard  to  speak  either  loud  or  fast.  There  was  at  times 
even  a  curious  hesitancy  in  her  speech,  which  came 
near  being  a  stammer,  or  suggested  the  measured 
care  with  which  people  speak  who  have  been  cured 
of  stammering.  It  made  her  often  appear  as  if  she 
did  not  know  her  own  mind  :  at  which  people  some 
times  took  heart ;  when,  if  they  had  only  known  the 
truth,  they  would  have  known  that  the  speech  hesi 
tated  solely  because  the  Seiiora  knew  her  mind  so 
exactly  that  she  was  finding  it  hard  to  make  the 
words  convey  it  as  she  desired,  or  in  a  way  to  best 
attain  her  ends. 

About  this  very  sheep-shearing  there  had  been, 
between  her  and  the  head  shepherd,  Juan  Canito, 
called  Juan  Can  for  short,  and  to  distinguish  him 
from  Juan  Jose,  the  upper  herdsman  of  the  cattle, 


RAMONA.  3 

some  discussions  which  would  have  been  hot  and 
angry  ones  in  any  other  hands  than  the  Sefiora's. 

Juan  Canito  wanted  the  shearing  to  begin,  even 
though  Sefior  Felipe  were  ill  in  bed,  and  though  that 
lazy  shepherd  Luigo  had  not  yet  got  back  with  the 
flock  that  had  been  driven  up  the  coast  for  pasture. 
"  There  were  plenty  of  sheep  on  the  place  to  begin 
with,"  he  said  one  morning,  — "at  least  a  thousand  ;" 
and  by  the  time  they  were  done,  Luigo  would  surely 
be  back  with  the  rest ;  and  as  for  Sefior  Felipe's  be 
ing  in  bed,  had  not  he,  Juan  Canito,  stood  at  the 
packing-bag,  and  handled  the  wool,  when  Seiior 
Felipe  was  a  boy  ?  Why  could  he  not  do  it  again  ? 
The  Senora  did  not  realize  how  time  was  going ; 
there  would  be  no  shearers  to  be  hired  presently,  since 
the  Senora  was  determined  to  have  none  but  Indians. 
Of  course,  if  she  would  employ  Mexicans,  as  all  the 
other  ranches  in  the  valley  did,  it  would  be  different ; 
but  she  was  resolved  upon  having  Indians,  —  "  God 
knows  why,"  he  interpolated  surlily,  under  his  breath. 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  you,  Juan,"  interrupted 
Senora  Moreno  at  the  precise  instant  the  last  syllable 
of  this  disrespectful  ejaculation  had  escaped  Juan's 
lips  ;  "  speak  a  little  louder.  I  fear  I  am  growing  deaf 
in  my  old  age." 

What  gentle,  suave,  courteous  tones !  and  the  calm 
dark  eyes  rested  on  Juan.  Canito  with  a  look  to  the 
fathoming  of  which  he  was  as  unequal  as  one  of  his 
own  sheep  would  have  been.  He  could  not  have  told 
why  he  instantly  and  involuntarily  said,  "  Beg  your 
pardon,  Senora." 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  ask  my  pardon,  Juan,"  the  Senora 
replied  with  exquisite  gentleness  ;  "  it  is  not  you  who 
are  to  blame,  if  I  am  deaf.  I  have  fancied  for  a  year 
I  did  not  hear  quite  as  well  as  I  once  did.  But  about 
the  Indians,  Juan  ;  did  not  Sefior  Felipe  tell  you  that 
lie  had  positively  engaged  the  same  band  of  shearers 


4  RAMONA. 

we  had  last  autumn,  Alessandro's  band  from  Temec- 
ula  ?  They  will  wait  until  we  are  ready  for  them. 
Sefior  Felipe  will  send  a  messenger  for  them.  He 
thinks  them  the  best  shearers  in  the  country.  He 
will  be  well  enough  in  a  week  or  two,  he  thinks,  and 
the  poor  sheep  must  bear  their  loads  a  few  days 
longer.  Are  they  looking  well,  do  you  think,  Juan  ? 
Will  the  crop  be  a  good  one  ?  General  Moreno  used 
to  say  that  you  could  reckon  up  the  wool-crop  to  a 
pound,  while  it  was  on  the  sheep's  backs." 

"  Yes,  Senora,"  answered  the  mollified  Juan  ;  "  the 
poor  beasts  look  wonderfully  well  considering  the 
scant  feed  they  have  had  all  winter.  We  '11  not  come 
many  pounds  short  of  our  last  year's  crop,  if  any. 
Though,  to  be  sure,  there  is  no  telling  in  what  case 
that  —  Luigo  will  bring  his  flock  back." 

The  Senora  smiled,  in  spite  of  herself,  at  the  pause 
and  gulp  with  which  Juari  had  filled  in  the  hiatus 
where  he  had  longed  to  set  a  contemptuous  epithet 
before  Luigo's  name. 

This  was  another  of  the  instances  where  the  Senora' s 
will  and  Juan  Canito's  had  clashed  and  he  did  not 
dream  of  it,  having  set  it  all  down  as  usual  to  the 
score  of  young  Senor  Felipe. 

Encouraged  by  the  Seiiora's  smile,  Juan  proceeded  : 
"  Sefior  Felipe  can  see  no  fault  in  Luigo,  because  they 
were  boys  together;  but  I  can  tell  him,  he  will  rue  it, 
one  of  these  mornings,  when  he  finds  a  flock  of  sheep 
worse  than  dead  on  his  hands,  and  no  thanks  to  any 
body  but  Luigo.  While  I  can  have  him  under  my 
eye,  here  in  the  valley,  it  is  all  very  well ;  but  he  is 
no  more  fit  to  take  responsibility  of  a  flock,  than  one 
of  the  very  lambs  themselves.  He  '11  drive  them  off 
their  feet  one  day,  and  starve  them  the  next ;  and 
I  've  known  him  to  forget  to  give  them  water.  When 
he  's  in  his  dreams,  the  Virgin  only  knows  what  he 
won't  do." 


RAM  ON  A.  5 

During  this  brief  and  almost  unprecedented  out 
burst  of  Juan's  the  Seiiora's  countenance  had  been 
slowly  growing  stern.  Juan  had  not  seen  it.  His 
eyes  had  been  turned  away  from  her,  looking  down 
into  the  upturned  eager  face  of  his  favorite  colley, 
who  was  leaping  and  gambolling  and  barking  at  his 
feet. 

"  Down,  Capitan,  down ! "  he  said  in  a  fond  tone, 
gently  repulsing  him ;  "  thou  makest  such  a  noise 
the  Sefiora  can  hear  nothing  but  thy  voice." 

"  I  heard  only  too  distinctly,  Juan  Canito,"  said 
the  Senora  in  a  sweet  but  icy  tone.  "  It  is  not  well 
for  one  servant  to  backbite  another.  It  gives  me 
great  grief  to  hear  such  words  ;  and  I  hope  when 
Father  Salvierderra  comes,  next  month,  you  will  not 
forget  to  confess  this  sin  of  which  you  have  been 
guilty  in  thus  seeking  to  injure  a  fellow-being.  If 
Seiior  Felipe  listens  to  you,  the  poor  boy  Luigo  will 
be  cast  out  homeless  on  the  world  some  day ;  and 
what  sort  of  a  deed  would  that  be,  Juan  Canito,  for 
one  Christian  to  do  to  another  ?  I  fear  the  Father 
will  give  you  penance,  when  he  hears  what  you  have 
said." 

"  Senora,  it  is  not  to  harm  the  lad,"  Juan  began, 
every  fibre  of  his  faithful  frame  thrilling  with  a  sense 
of  the  injustice  of  her  reproach. 

But  the  Senora  had  turned  her  back.  Evidently 
she  would  hear  no  more  from  him  then.  He  stood 
watching  her  as  she  walked  away,  at  her  usual  slow 
pace,  her  head  slightly  bent  forward,  her  rosary  lifted 
in  her  left  hand,  and  the  fingers  of  the  right  hand  me 
chanically  slipping  the  beads. 

"Prayers,  always  prayers  !"  thought  Juan  to  him 
self,  as  his  eyes  followed  her.  "  If  they  '11  take  one 
to  heaven,  the  Senora  '11  go  by  the  straight  road, 
that 's  sure  !  I  'm  sorry  I  vexed  her.  But  what 's  a 
man  to  do,  if  he  's  the  interest  of  the  place  at  heart, 


6  RAM  ON  A. 

I  'd  like  to  know.  Is  he  to  stand  by,  and  see  a  lot  of 
idle  mooning  louts  run  away  with  everything  ?  Ah, 
but  it  was  an  ill  day  for  the  estate  when  the  General 
died,  —  an  ill  day  !  an  ill  day  !  And  they  may  scold 
me  as  much  as  they  please,  and  set  me  to  confessing 
my  sins  to  the  Father ;  it  's  very  well  for  them,  * 
they  've  got  me  to  look  after  matters.  Senor  Felipe 
will  do  well  enough  when  he  's  a  man,  maybe ;  but 
a  boy  like  him  !  Bah  !  "  And  the  old  man  stamped 
his  foot  with  a  not  wholly  unreasonable  irritation,  at 
the  false  position  in  which  he  felt  himself  put. 

"  Confess  to  Father  Salvierderra,  indeed  ! "  he  mut 
tered  aloud.  "  Ay,  that  will  I.  He  's  a  man  of 
sense,  if  he  is  a  priest,"  —  at  which  slip  of  the  tongue 
the  pious  Juan  hastily  crossed  himself,  — "  and  I  '11 
ask  him  to  give  me  some  good  advice  as  to  how  I  'm  to 
manage  between  this  young  boy  at  the  head  of  every 
thing,  and  a  doting  mother  who  thinks  he  has  the 
wisdom  of  a  dozen  grown  men.  The  Father  knew 
the  place  in  the  olden  time.  He  knows  it 's  no  child's 
play  to  look  after  the  estate  even  now,  much  smaller 
as  it  is !  An  ill  day  when  the  old  General  died,  an 
ill  day  indeed,  the  saints  rest  his  soul ! "  Saying  this, 
Juan  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  whistling  to  Capi- 
tan,  walked  towards  the  sunny  veranda  of  the  south 
side  of  the  kitchen  wing  of  the  house,  where  it  had 
been  for  twenty  odd  years  his  habit  to  sit  on  the 
long  bench  and  smoke  his  pipe  of  a  morning.  Before 
he  had  got  half-way  across  the  court-yard,  however, 
a  thought  struck  him.  He  halted  so  suddenly  that 
Capitan,  with  the  quick  sensitiveness  of  his  breed,, 
thought  so  sudden  a  change  of  purpose  could  only 
come  from  something  in  connection  with  sheep ;  and, 
true  to  his  instinct  of  duty,  pricked  up  his  ears,  poised 
himself  for  a  full  run,  and  looked  up  in  his  master's 
face  waiting  for  explanation  and  signal.  But  Juan 
did  not  observe  him. 


RAMONA.  7 

"Ha! "he  said,  "Father  Salvierderra  comes  next, 
month,  does  he  ?  Let 's  see.  To-day  is  the  25th. 
That  's  it.  The  sheep-shearing  is  not  to  come  oil 
till  the  Father  gets  here.  Then  each  morning  it  will 
be  mass  in  the  chapel,  and  each  night  vespers  ;  and 
the  crowd  will  be  here  at  least  two  days  longer  to 
feed,  for  the  time  they  will  lose  by  that  and  by  the 
confessions.  That  's  what  Senor  Felipe  is  up  to. 
He  's  a  pious  lad.  I  recollect  now,  it  was  the  same 
way  two  years  ago.  Well,  well,  it  is  a  good  thing  for 
those  poor  Indian  devils  to  get  a  bit  of  religion  now 
and  then  ;  and  it's  like  old  times  to  see  the  chapel 
full  of  them  kneeling,  and  more  than  can  get  in  at 
the  door ;  I  doubt  not  it  warms  the  Sefiora's  heart  to 
see  them  all  there,  as  if  they  belonged  to  the  house, 
as  they  used  to  :  and  now  I  know  when  it 's  to  be,  I 
have  only  to  make  my  arrangements  accordingly.  It 
is  always  in  the  first  week  of  the  month  the  Father 
gets  here.  Yes  ;  she  said, '  Seiior  Felipe  will  be  well 
enough  in  a  week  or  two,  he  thinks.'  Ha !  ha !  It 
will  be  nearer  two ;  ten  days  or  thereabouts.  I  '11 
begin  the  booths  next  week.  A  plague  on  that  Luigo 
for  not  being  back  here.  He  's  the  best  hand  I  have 
to  cut  the  willow  boughs  for  the  roofs.  He  knows 
the  difference  between  one  year's  growth  and  an 
other's  ;  I  '11  say  that  much  for  him,  spite  of  the  silly 
dreaming  head  he  's  got  on  his  shoulders." 

Juan  was  so  pleased  with  this  clearing  up  in  his 
mind  as  to  Senor  Felipe's  purpose  about  the  time  of 
the  sheep-shearing,  that  it  put  him  in  good  humor 
for  the  day,  —  good  humor  with  everybody,  and 
himself  most  of  all.  As  he  sat  on  the  low  bench, 
his  head  leaning  back  against  the  whitewashed  wall, 
his  long  legs  stretched  out  nearly  across  the  whole 
width  of  the  veranda,  his  pipe  firm  wedged  in 
the  extreme  left  corner  of  his  mouth,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  he  was  the  picture  of  placid  content. 


8  RAMONA. 

The  troop  of  youngsters  which  still  swarmed  around 
the  kitchen  quarters  of  Senora  Moreno's  house,  al 
most  as  numerous  and  inexplicable  as  in  the  grand 
old  days  of  the  General's  time,  ran  back  and  forth 
across  Juan  s  legs,  fell  down  between  them,  and 
picked  themselves  up  by  help  of  clutches  at  his 
leather  trousers,  all  unreproved  by  Juan,  though 
loudly  scolded  and  warned  by  their  respective  mothers 
from  the  kitchen. 

"  What 's  come  to  Juan  Can  to  be  so  good-natured 
to-day  ? "  saucily  asked  Margarita,  the  youngest  and 
prettiest  of  the  maids,  popping  her  head  out  of  a 
window,  and  twitching  Juan's  hair.  He  was  so  gray 
and  wrinkled  that  the  maids  all  felt  at  ease  with 
him.  He  seemed  to  them  as  old  as  Methuselah  ;  but 
he  was  not  really  so  old  as  they  thought,  nor  they  so 
safe  in  their  tricks.  The  old  man  had  hot  blood  in 
his  veins  yet,  as  the  under-shepherds  could  testify. 

"  The  sight  of  your  pretty  face,  Sefiorita  Margarita," 
answered  Juan  quickly,  cocking  his  eye  at  her,  rising 
to  his  feet,  and  making  a  mock  bow  towards  the 
window. 

"  He  !  he  !  Senorita,  indeed  !  "  chuckled  Margarita's 
mother,  old  Marda  the  cook.  "  Senor  Juan  Cauito  is 
pleased  to  be  merry  at  the  doors  of  his  betters ; "  and 
she  flung  a  copper  saucepan  full  of  not  over-clean 
water  so  deftly  past  Juan's  head,  that  not  a  drop 
touched  him,  and  yet  he  had  the  appearance  of  hav 
ing  been  ducked.  At  which  bit  of  sleight-of-hand 
the  whole  court-yard,  young  and  old,  babies,  cocks, 
hens,  and  turkeys,  all  set  up  a  shout  and  a  cackle,  and 
dispersed  to  the  four  corners  of  the  yard  as  if  scat 
tered  by  a  volley  of  bird-shot.  Hearing  the  racket, 
the  rest  of  the  maids  came  running,  —  Anita  and 
Maria,  the  twins,  women  forty  years  old,  born  on  the 
place  the  year  after  General  Moreno  brought  home 
his  handsome  young  bride  ;  their  two  daughters, 


RAMONA.  9 

Hosa  and  Anita  the  Little,  as  she  was  still  called, 
though  she  outweighed  her  mother ;  old  Juanita,  the 
oldest  woman  in  the  household,  of  whom  even  the 
Senora  was  said  not  to  know  the  exact  age  or  history  ; 
and  she,  poor  thing,  could  tell  nothing,  having  been 
silly  for  ten  years  or  more,  good  for  nothing  except 
to  shell  beans  :  that  she  did  as  fast  and  well  as  ever, 
and  was  never  happy  except  she  was  at  it.  Luckily 
for  her,  beans  are  the  one  crop  never  omitted  or 
stinted  on  a  Mexican  estate  ;  and  for  sake  of  old  Jua 
nita  they  stored  every  year  in  the  Moreno  house,  rooms 
full  of  beans  in  the  pod  (tons  of  them,  one  would 
think),  enough  to  feed  an  army.  But  then,  it  was 
like  a  little  army  even  now,  the  Senora's  household ; 
nobody  ever  knew  exactly  how  many  women  were  in 
the  kitchen,  or  how  many  men  in  the  fields.  There 
were  always  women  cousins,  or  brother's  wives  or 
widows  or  daughters,  who  had  come  to  stay,  or  men 
cousins,  or  sister's  husbands  or  sons,  who  were  stop 
ping  on  their  way  up  or  down  the  valley.  When  it 
came  to  the  pay-roll,  Seiior  Felipe  knew  to  whom  he 
paid  wages  ;  but  who  were  fed  and  lodged  under  his 
roof,  that  was  quite  another  thing.  It  could  not  enter 
into  the  head  of  a  Mexican  gentleman  to  make  either 
count  or  account  of  that.  It  would  be  a  disgraceful 
niggardly  thought. 

To  the  Senora  it  seemed  as  if  there  were  no  longer 
any  people  about  the  place.  A  beggarly  handful,  she 
would  have  said,  hardly  enough  to  do  the  work  of  the 
house,  or  of  the  estate,  sadly  as  the  latter  had  dwindled. 
In  the  General's  day,  it  had  been  a  free-handed  boast 
of  his  that  never  less  than  fifty  persons,  men,  women 
and  children,  were  fed  within  his  gates  each  day ;  how 
many  more,  he  did  not  care,  nor  know.  But  that  time 
had  indeed  gone,  gone  forever  ;  and  though  a  stranger, 
seeing  the  sudden  rush  and  muster  at  door  and  win 
dow,  which  followed  on  old  Marda's  letting  ily  the 


10  RAM  ON  A. 

water  at  Juan's  head,  would  have  thought,  "  Good 
heavens,  do  all  those  women,  children,  and  babies 
belong  in  that  one  house  ! "  the  Sefiora's  sole  thought, 
as  she  at  that  moment  went  past  the  gate,  was,  "  Poor 
tilings  !  how  few  there  are  left  of  them  !  I  am  afraid 
old  Marda  has  to  work  too  hard.  I  must  spare 
Margarita  more  from  the  house  to  help  her."  And 
she  sighed  deeply,  and  unconsciously  held  her  rosary 
nearer  to  her  heart,  as  she  went  into  the  house  and 
entered  her  son's  bedroom.  The  picture  she  saw 
there  was  one  to  thrill  any  mother's  heart;  and  as 
it  met  her  eye,  she  paused  on  the  threshold  for  a 
second, — only  a  second,  however;  and  nothing  could 
have  astonished  Felipe  Moreno  so  much  as  to  have 
been  told  that  at  the  very  moment  when  his  mother's 
calm  voice  was  saying  to  him,  "  Good  morning,  my 
son,  I  hope  you  have  slept  well,  and  are  better," 
there  was  welling  up  in  her  heart  a  passionate  ejacu 
lation,  "  0  my  glorious  son !  The  saints  have  sent  me 
in  him  the  face  of  his  father!  He  is  fit  for  a  king 
dom  !  " 

The  truth  is,  Felipe  Moreno  was  not  fit  for  a  king 
dom  at  all.  If  he  had  been,  he  would  not  have  been 
so  ruled  by  his  mother  without  ever  finding  it  out. 
But  so  far  as  mere  physical  beauty  goes,  there  never 
was  a  king  born,  whose  face,  stature,  and  bearing 
would  set  off  a  crown  or  a  throne,  or  any  of  the  things 
of  which  the  outside  of  royalty  is  made  up,  better 
than  would  Felipe  Moreno's.  And  it  was  true,  as  the 
Sefiora  said,  whether  the  saints  had  anything  to  do 
with  it  or  not,  that  he  had  the  face  of  his  father.  So 
strong  a  likeness  is  seldom  seen.  When  Felipe  once,  on 
the  occasion  of  a  grand  celebration  and  procession,  put 
on  the  gold-wrought  velvet  mantle,  gayly  embroidered 
short  breeches  fastened  at  the  knee  with  red  ribbons, 
and  gold-and-silver-trimmed  sombrero,  which  his  fa 
ther  had  worn  twenty-five  years  before,  the  Sefiora 


RAMON  A.  11 

fainted  at  her  first  look  at  him,  —  fainted  and  fell ;  and 
when  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  saw  the  same  splendid, 
gayly  arrayed,  dark-bearded  man,  bending  over  her 
in  distress,  with  words  of  endearment  and  alarm,  she 
fainted  again. 

"  Mother,  mother  mia,"  cried  Felipe,  "  I  will  not 
wear  them  if  it  makes  you  feel  like  this  !  Let  me 
take  them  off.  I  will  not  go  to  their  cursed  parade ; " 
and  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  began  with  trembling 
fingers  to  unbuckle  the  sword-belt. 

"  No,  no,  Felipe,"  faintly  cried  the  Seriora,  from  the 
ground.  "  It  is  my  wish  that  you  wear  them  ; "  and 
staggering  to  her  feet,  with  a  burst  of  tears,  she  re- 
buckled  the  old  sword-belt,  which  her  fingers  had  so 
many  times  —  never  unkissed  —  buckled,  in  the  days 
when  her  husband  had  bade  her  farewell  and  gone 
forth  to  the  uncertain  fates  of  war.  "  Wear  them  !  " 
she  cried,  with  gathering  fire  in  her  tones,  and  her 
eyes  dry  of  tears,  —  "  wear  them,  and  let  the  Ameri 
can  hounds  see  what  a  Mexican  officer  and  gentleman 
looked  like  before  they  had  set  their  base,  usurping 
feet  on  our  necks  ! "  And  she  followed  him  to  the 
gate,  and  stood  erect,  bravely  waving  her  handker 
chief  as  he  galloped  off,  till  he  was  out  of  sight. 
Then  with  a  changed  face  and  a  bent  head  she  crept 
slowly  to  her  room,  locked  herself  in,  fell  on  her  knees 
before  the  Madonna  at  the  head  of  her  bed,  and  spent 
the  greater  part  of  the  day  praying  that  she  might 
be  forgiven,  and  that  all  heretics  might  be  discom 
fited.  From  which  part  of  these  supplications  she 
derived  most  comfort  is  easy  to  imagine. 

Juan  Canito  had  been  right  in  his  sudden  surmise 
that  it  was  for  Father  Salvierderra's  coining  that  the 
sheep-shearing  was  being  delayed,  and  not  in  conse 
quence  of  "Seiior  Felipe's  illness,  or  by  the  non-appear 
ance  of  Luigo  and  his  flock  of  sheep.  Juan  would 
have  chuckled  to  himself  still  more  at  his  perspicacity, 


12  RAMONA. 

had  he  overheard  the  conversation  going  on  between 
the  Sefiora  and  her  son,  at  the  very  time  when  he, 
half  asleep  on  the  veranda,  was,  as  he  would  have 
called  it,  putting  two  and  two  together  and  convin 
cing  himself  that  old  Juan  was  as  smart  as  they  were, 
and  not  to  be  kept  in  the  dark  by  all  their  reticence 
and  equivocation. 

"Juan  Can  is  growing  very  impatient  about  the 
sheep-shearing,"  said  the  Sefiora.  "  I  suppose  you  are 
still  of  the  same  mind  about  it,  Felipe,  —  that  it  is 
better  to  wait  till  Father  Salvierderra  comes  ?  As  the 
only  chance  those  Indians  have  of  seeing  him  is  here, 
it  would  seem  a  Christian  duty  to  so  arrange  it,  if  it 
be  possible ;  but  Juan  is  very  restive.  He  is  getting 
old,  and  chafes  a  little,  I  fancy,  under  your  control. 
He  cannot  forget  that  you  were  a  boy  on  his  knee. 
Now  I,  for  my  part,  am  like  to  forget  that  you  were 
ever  anything  but  a  man  for  me  to  lean  on." 

Felipe  turned  his  handsome  face  toward  his 
mother  with  a  beaming  smile  of  filial  affection  and 
gratified  manly  vanity.  "  Indeed,  my  mother,  if  I 
can  be  sufficient  for  you  to  lean  on,  I  will  ask  noth 
ing  more  of  the  saints;"  and  he  took  his  mother's  thin 
and  wasted  little  hands,  both  at  once,  in  his  own 
strong  right  hand,  and  carried  them  to  his  lips  as  a 
lover  might  have  done.  "  You  will  spoil  me,  mother," 
he  said,  "  you  make  me  so  proud." 

"  No,  Felipe,  it  is  I  who  am  proud,"  promptly  re 
plied  the  mother ;  "  and  I  do  not  call  it  being  proud, 
only  grateful  to  God  for  having  given  me  a  son  wise 
enough  to  take  his  father's  place,  and  guide  and  pro 
tect  me  through  the  few  remaining  years  I  have  to 
live.  I  shall  die  content,  seeing  you  at  the  head  of 
the  estate,  and  living  as  a  Mexican  gentleman  should  ; 
that  is,  so  far  as  now  remains  possible  in  this  unfortu 
nate  country.  But  about  the  sheep-shearing,  Felipe. 
Do  you  wish  to  have  it  begun  before  the  Father  is 


RAMONA.  13 

here  ?  Of  course,  Alessaiidro  is  all  ready  with  his 
band.  It  is  but  two  days'  journey  for  a  messenger 
to  bring  him.  Father  Salvierderra  cannot  be  here 
before  the  10th  of  the  month.  He  leaves  Santa 
Barbara  on  the  1st,  and  he  will  walk  all  the  way, — a 
good  six  days'  journey,  for  he  is  old  now  and  feeble  ; 
then  he  must  stop  in  Ventura  for  a  Sunday,  and  a  day 
at  the  Ortega's  ranch,  and  at  the  Lopez's,  —  there, 
there  is  a  christening.  Yes,  the  10th  is  the  very 
earliest  that  he  can  be  here,  —  near  two  weeks  from 
now.  So  far  as  your  getting  up  is  concerned,  it 
might  perhaps  be  next  week.  You  will  be  nearly 
well  by  that  time." 

"  Yes  indeed,"  laughed  Felipe,  stretching  himself 
out  in  the  bed  and  giving  a  kick  to  the  bedclothes 
that  made  the  high  bedposts  and  the  fringed  canopy 
roof  shake  and  creak ;  "  I  am  well  now,  if  it  were 
not  for  this  cursed  weakness  when  I  stand  on  my  feet. 
I  believe  it  would  do  me  good  to  get  out  of  doors." 

In  truth,  Felipe  had  been  hankering  for  the  sheep- 
shearing  himself.  It  was  a  brisk,  busy,  holiday  sort 
of  time  to  him,  hard  as  he  worked  in  it ;  and  two 
weeks  looked  long  to  wait. 

"  It  is  always  thus  after  a  fever,"  said  his  mother. 
"The  weakness  lasts  many  weeks.  I  am  not  sure 
that  you  will  be  strong  enough  even  in  two  weeks  to 
do  the  packing ;  but,  as  Juan  Can  said  this  morning, 
he  stood  at  the  packing-bag  when  you  were  a  boy, 
and  there  was  no  need  of  waiting  for  you  for  that !  " 

"  He  said  that,  did  he ! "  exclaimed  Felipe,  wrath- 
fully.  "  The  old  man  is  getting  insolent.  I  '11  tell 
him  that  nobody  will  pack  the  sacks  but  myself, 
while  I  am  master  here ;  and  I  will  have  the  sheep- 
shearing  when  I  please,  and  not  before." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  not  be  wise  to  say  that  it 
is  not  to  take  place  till  the  Father  comes,  would  it  ? " 
asked  the  Sefiora,  hesitatingly,  as  if  the  thing  were 


14  RAMOXA. 

evenly  balanced  in  her  mind.  "  The  Father  has  not 
that  hold  on  the  younger  men  he  used  to  have,  and 
I  have  thought  that  even  in  Juan  himself  I  have  de 
tected  a  remissness.  The  spirit  of  unbelief  is  spread 
ing  in  the  country  since  the  Americans  are  running 
up  and  down  everywhere  seeking  money,  like  dogs 
with  their  noses  to  the  ground  !  It  might  vex  Juan 
if  he  knew  that  you  were  waiting  only  for  the  Father. 
What  do  you  think  ? " 

"  I  think  it  is  enough  for  him  to  know  that  the 
sheep-shearing  waits  for  my  pleasure,"  answered 
Felipe,  still  wrathful,  "and  that  is  the  end  of  it." 
And  so  it  was ;  and,  moreover,  precisely  the  end 
which  Seiiora  Moreno  had  had  in  her  own  mind  from 
the  beginning ;  but  not  even  Juan  Canito  himself 
suspected  its  being  solely  her  purpose,  and  not  her 
son's.  As  for  Felipe,  if  any  person  had  suggested  to 
him  that  it  was  his  mother,  and  not  he,  who  had  de 
cided  that  the  sheep-shearing  would  better  be  deferred 
until  the  arrival  of  Father  Salvierderra  from  Santa 
Barbara,  and  that  nothing  should  be  said  on  tho 
ranch  about  this  being  the  real  reason  of  the  post 
poning,  Felipe  would  have  stared  in  astonishment, 
and  have  thought  that  person  either  crazy  or  a  fool. 

To  attain  one's  ends  in  this  way  is  the  consum 
mate  triumph  of  art.  Never  to  appear  as  a  factor  in 
the  situation  ;  to  be  able  to  wield  other  men,  as  in 
struments,  with  the  same  direct  and  implicit  response 
to  will  that  one  gets  from  a  hand  or  a  foot,  —  this  is 
to  triumph,  indeed :  to  be  as  nearly  controller  and 
conqueror  of  Fates  as  fate  permits.  There  have  been 
men  prominent  in  the  world's  affairs  at  one  time  and 
another,  who  have  sought  and  studied  such  a  power 
and  have  acquired  it  to  a  great  degree.  By  it  they 
have  manipulated  legislators,  ambassadors,  sover 
eigns  ;  and  have  grasped,  held,  and  played  with  the 
destinies  of  empires.  But  it  is  to  be  questioned 


RAMON  A.  15 

whether  even  in  these  notable  instances  there  has 
ever  been  so  marvellous  completeness  of  success  as  is 
sometimes  seen  in  the  case  of  a  woman  in  whom  the 
power  is  an  instinct  and  not  an  attainment ;  a  pas 
sion  rather  than  a  purpose.  Between  the  two  results, 
between  the  two  processes,  there  is  just  that  differ 
ence  which  is  always  to  be  seen  between  the  stroke 
of  talent  and  the  stroke  of  genius. 

Seiiora  Moreno's  was  the  stroke  of  genius. 


II. 


THE  Senora  Moreno's  house  was  one  of  the  best 
specimens  to  be  found  in  California  of  the  rep 
resentative  house  of  the  half  barbaric,  half  elegant, 
wholly  generous  and  free-handed  life  led  there  by 
Mexican  men  and  women  of  degree  in  the  early  part 
of  This  century,  under  the  rule  of  the  Spanish  and 
Mexican  viceroys,  when  the  laws  of  the  Indies 
were  still  the  law  of  the  land,  and  its  old  name, 
"  New  Spain,"  was  an  ever-present  link  and  stimulus 
to  the  warmest  memories  and  deepest  patriotisms  of 
its  people. 

It  was  a  picturesque  life,  with  more  of  sentiment 
and  gayety  in  it,  more  also  that  was  truly  dramatic, 
more  romance,  than  will  ever  be  seen  again  on  those 
sunny  shores.  The  aroma  of  it  all  lingers  there  still ; 
industries  and  inventions  have  not  yet  slain  it;  it 
will  last  out  its  century,  —  in  fact,  it  can  never  be 
quite  lost,  so  long  as  there  is  left  standing  one  such 
house  as  the  Senora  Moreno's. 

When  the  house  was  built,  General  Moreno  owned 
all  the  land  within  a  radius  of  forty  miles,  —  forty 
miles  westward,  down  the  valley  to  the  sea ;  forty 
miles  eastward,  into  the  San  Fernando  Mountains  ; 
and  good  forty  miles  more  or  less  along  the  coast. 
The  boundaries  were  not  very  strictly  defined ;  there 
was  no  occasion,  in  those  happy  days,  to  reckon  land 
by  inches.  It  might  be  asked,  perhaps,  just  how 
General  Moreno  owned  all  this  land,  and  the  question 
might  not  be  easy  to  answer.  It  was  not  and  could 
not  be  answered  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  United 


RAMONA.  17 

States  Land  Commission,  which,  after  the  surrender  of 
California,  undertook  to  sift  and  adjust  Mexican  land- 
titles  ;  and  that  was  the  way  it  had  come  about  that 
the  Sefiora  Moreno  now  called  herself  a  poor  woman. 
Tract  after  tract,  her  lands  had  been  taken  away 
•from  her;  it  looked  for  a  time  as  if  nothing  would 
be  left.  Every  one  of  the  claims  based  on  deeds  of 
gift  from  Governor  Pio  Pico,  her  husband's  most 
intimate  friend,  was  disallowed.  They  all  went  by 
the  board  in  one  batch,  and  took  away  from  the 
Seiiora  in  a  day  the  greater  part  of  her  best  pasture- 
lands.  They  were  lands  which  had  belonged  to  the 
Bona ventura  Mission,  and  lay  along  the  coast  at  the 
mouth  of  the  valley  down  which  the  little  stream 
which  ran  past  her  house  went  to  the  sea;  and  it 
had  been  a  great  pride  and  delight  to  the  Seiiora,  when 
she  was  young,  to  ride  that  forty  miles  by  her  hus 
band's  side,  all  the  way  on  their  own  lands,  straight 
from  their  house  to  their  own  strip  of  shore.  No 
wonder  she  believed  the  Americans  thieves,  and  spoke 
of  them  always  as  hounds.  The  people  of  the  United 
States  have  never  in  the  least  realized  that  the  tak 
ing  possession  of  California  was  not  only  a  conqiier- 
ing  of  Mexico,  but  a  conquering  of  California  as  well ; 
that  the  real  bitterness  of  the  surrender  was  not  so 
much  to  the  empire  which  gave  up  the  country,  as  to 
the  country  itself  which  was  given  up.  Provinces 
passed  back  and  forth  in  that  way,  helpless  in  the 
hands  of  great  powers,  have  all  the  ignominy  and 
humiliation  of  defeat,  with  none  of  the  dignities  or 
compensations  of  the  transaction. 
'  Mexico  saved  much  by  her  treaty,  spite  of  having 
to  acknowledge  herself  beaten  ;  but  California  lost 
all.  Words  cannot  tell  the  sting  of  such  a  transfer. 
It  is  a  marvel  that  a  Mexican  remained  in  the  coun 
try  ;  probably  none  did,  except  those  who  were  abso 
lutely  forced  to  it. 

2 


18  RAMONA. 

Luckily  for  the  Senora  Moreno,  her  title  to  the  lands 
midway  in  the  valley  was  better  than  to  those  lying 
to  the  east  and  the  west,  which  had  once  belonged  to 
the  missions  of  San  Fernando  and  Bonaventura ;  and 
after  all  the  claims,  counter-claims,  petitions,  appeals, 
and  adjudications  were  ended,  she  still  was  left  in  un 
disputed  possession  of  what  would  have  been  thought 
by  any  new-comer  into  the  country  to  be  a  handsome 
estate,  but  which  seemed  to  the  despoiled  and  indig 
nant  Senora  a  pitiful  fragment  of  one.  Moreover,  she 
declared  that  she  should  never  feel  secure  of  a  foot  of 
even  this.  Any  day,  she  said,  the  United  States  Gov 
ernment  might  send  out  a  new  Laud  Commission  to 
examine  the  decrees  of  the  first,  and  revoke  such  as 
they  saw  fit.  Once  a  thief,  always  a  thief.  Nobody 
need  feel  himself  safe  under  American  rule.  There 
was  no  knowing  what  might  happen  any  day ;  and 
year  by  year  the  lines  of  sadness,  resentment,  anxiety, 
and  antagonism  deepened  on  the  Sefiora's  fast  aging 
face. 

It  gave  her  unspeakable  satisfaction,  when  the 
Commissioners,  laying  out  a  road  down  the  valley,  ran 
it  at  the  back  of  her  house  instead  of  past  the  front. 
"  It  is  well,"  she  said.  "  Let  their  travel  be  where  it 
belongs,  behind  our  kitchens ;  and  no  one  have  sight 
of  the  front  doors  of  our  houses,  except  friends  who 
have  come  to  visit  us."  Her  enjoyment  of  this  never 
flagged.  Whenever  she  saw,  passing  the  place,  wag 
ons  or  carriages  belonging  to  the  hated  Americans,  it 
gave  her  a  distinct  thrill  of  pleasure  to  think  that 
the  house  turned  its  back  on  them.  She  would  like 
always  to  be  able  to  do  the  same  herself;  but  what 
ever  she,  by  policy  or  in  business,  might  be  forced  to 
do,  the  old  house,  at  any  rate,  would  always  keep  the 
attitude  of  contempt,  —  its  face  turned  away. 

One  other  pleasure  she  provided  herself  with,  soon 
after  this  road  was  opened,  —  a  pleasure  in  which 


RAMONA.  19 

religious  devotion  and  race  antagonism  were  so  closely 
blended  that  it  would  have  puzzled  the  subtlest  of 
priests  to  decide  whether  her  act  were  a  sin  or  a 
virtue.  She  caused  to  be  set  up,  upon  every  one  of 
the  soft  rounded  hills  which  made  the  beautiful  rolling 
sides  of  that  part  of  the  valley,  a  large  wooden  cross ; 
not  a  hill  in  si<>'ht  of  her  house  left  without  the  sacred 

o 

emblem  of  her  faith.  "  That  the  heretics  may  know, 
when  they  go  by,  that  they  are  on  the  estate  of  a 
good  Catholic,"  she  said,  "  and  that  the  faithful  may 
be  reminded  to  pray.  There  have  been  miracles  of 
conversion  wrought  on  the  most  hardened  by  a  sud 
den  sight  of  the  Blessed  Cross." 

There  they  stood,  summer  and  winter,  rain  and 
shine,  the  silent,  solemn,  outstretched  arms,  and  be 
came  landmarks  to  many  a  guideless  traveller  who 
had  been  told  that  his  way  would  be  by  the  first 
turn  to  the  left  or  the  right,  after  passing  the  last  one 
of  the  Sefiora  Moreno's  crosses,  which  he  could  n't 
miss  seeing.  And  who  shall  say  that  it  did  not  often 
happen  that  the  crosses  bore  a  sudden  message  to 
some  idle  heart  journeying  by,  and  thus  justified  the 
pious  half  of  the  Senora's  impulse  ?  Certain  it  is, 
that  many  a  good  Catholic  halted  and  crossed  him 
self  when  he  first  beheld  them,  in  the  lonely  places, 
standing  out  in  sudden  relief  against  the  blue  sky; 
and  if  he  said  a  swift  short  prayer  at  the  sight,  was 
he  not  so  much  the  better  ? 

The  house  was  of  adobe,  low,  with  a  wide  veran 
da  on  the  three  sides  of  the  inner  court,  and  a  still 
broader  one  across  the  entire  front,  which  looked  to 
tthe  south.  These  verandas,  especially  those  on  the 
inner  court,  were  supplementary  rooms  to  the  house. 
The  greater  part  of  the  family  life  went  on  in  them. 
Nobody  stayed  inside  the  walls,  except  when  it  was 
necessary.  All  the  kitchen  work,  except  the  actual 
cooking,  was  done  here,  in  front  of  the  kitchen  doors 


20  RAMONA. 

and  windows.  Babies  slept,  were  washed,  sat  in  the 
dirt,  and  played,  on  the  veranda.  The  women  said 
their  prayers,  took  their  naps,  and  wove  their  lace 
there.  Old  Juanita  shelled  her  beans  there,  and 
threw  the  pods  down  on  the  tile  floor,  till  towards 
night  they  were  sometimes  piled  up  high  around  her, 
like  corn-husks  at  a  husking.  The  herdsmen  and 
shepherds  smoked  there,  lounged  there,  trained  their 
dogs  there ;  there  the  young  made  love,  and  the  old 
dozed  ;  the  benches,  which  ran  the  entire  length  of 
the  walls,  were  worn  into  hollows,  and  shone  like 
satin;  the  tiled  floors  also  were  broken  and  sunk  in 
places,  making  little  wells,  which  filled  up  in  times 
of  hard  rains,  and  were  then  an  invaluable  addition 
to  the  children's  resources  for  amusement,  and  also  to 
the  comfort  of  the  dogs,  cats,  and  fowls,  who  picked 
about  among  them,  taking  sips  from  each. 

The  arched  veranda  along  the  front  was  a  delight 
some  place.  It  must  have  been  eighty  feet  long,  at 
least,  for  the  doors  of  five  large  rooms  opened  on  it. 
The  two  westernmost  rooms  had  been  added  on,  and 
made  four  steps  higher  than  the  others  ;  which  gave 
to  that  end  of  the  veranda  the  look  of  a  balcony,  or 
loggia.  Here  the  Seiiora  kept  her  flowers  ;  great  red 
water-jars,  hand-made  by  the  Indians  of  San  Luis 
Obispo  Mission,  stood  in  close  rows  against  the  walls, 
and  in  them  were  always  growing  fine  geraniums, 
carnations,  and  yellow-flowered  musk.  The  Seiiora' s 
passion  for  musk  she  had  inherited  from  her  mother. 
It  was  so  strong  that  she  sometimes  wondered  at  it ; 
and  one  day,  as  she  sat  with  Father  Salvierderra  in 
the  veranda,  she  picked  a  handful  of  the  blossoms, 
and  giving  them  to  him,  said,  "  I  do  not  know  why 
it  is,  but  it  seems  to  me  if  I  were  dead  I  could  be 
brought  to  life  by  the  smell  of  musk." 

"It  is  in  your  blood,  Senora,"  the  old  monk  re 
plied.  "  When  I  was  last  in  your  father's  house  in 


RAMONA.  21 

Seville,  your  mother  sent  for  me  to  her  room,  and 
under  her  window  was  a  stone  balcony  full  of  grow 
ing  musk,  which  so  filled  the  room  with  its  odor  that 
I  was  like  to  faint.  But  she  said  it  cured  her  of  dis 
eases,  and  without  it  she  fell  ill.  You  were  a  baby 
then." 

"  Yes,"  cried  the  Senora,  "  but  I  recollect  that 
balcony.  I  recollect  being  lifted  up  to  a  window, 
and  looking  down  into  a  bed  of  blooming  yellow 
flowers ;  but  I  did  not  know  what  they  were.  How 
strange ! " 

"  No.  Not  strange,  daughter,"  replied  Father  Sal- 
vierderra.  "  It  would  have  been  stranger  if  you  had 
not  acquired  the  taste,  thus  drawing  it  in  with  the 
mother's  milk.  It  would  behoove  mothers  to  remem 
ber  this  far  more  than  they  do." 

Besides  the  geraniums  and  carnations  and  musk 
in  the  red  jars,  there  were  many  sorts  of  climbing 
vines,  —  some  coming  from  the  ground,  and  twining 
around  the  pillars  of  the  veranda ;  some  growing  in 
great  bowls,  swung  by  cords  from  the  roof  of  the 
veranda,  or  set  on  shelves  against  the  walls.  These 
bowls  were  of  gray  stone,  hollowed  and  polished, 
shining  smooth  inside  and  out.  They  also  had  been 
made  by  the  Indians,  nobody  knew  how  many  ages 
ago,  scooped  and  polished  by  the  patient  creatures, 
with  only  stones  for  tools. 

Among  these  vines,  singing  from  morning  till  night, 
hung  the  Senora' s  canaries  and  finches,  half  a  dozen 
of  each,  all  of  different  generations,  raised  by  the 
Senora.  She  was  never  without  a  young  bird-family 
on  hand ;  and  all  the  way  from  Bonaventura  to 
Monterey,  it  was  thought  a  piece  of  good  luck  to 
come  into  possession  of  a  canary  or  finch  of  Senora 
Moreno's  raising. 

Between  the  veranda  and  the  river  meadows,  out 
on  which  it  looked,  all  was  garden,  orange  grove,  and 


22  RAMONA. 

almond  orchard  ;  the  orange  grove  always  green, 
never  without  snowy  bloom  or  golden  fruit  ;  the 
garden  never  without  flowers,  summer  or  winter ;  and 
the  almond  orchard,  in  early  spring,  a  fluttering  can 
opy  of  pink  and  white  petals,  which,  seen  from  the 
hills  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  looked  as  if 
rosy  sunrise  clouds  had  fallen,  and  become  tangled 
in  the  tree-tops.  On  either  hand  stretched  away 
other  orchards,  —  peach,  apricot,  pear,  apple,  pome 
granate  ;  and  beyond  these,  vineyards.  Nothing  was 
to  be  seen  but  verdure  or  bloom  or  fruit,  at  whatever 
time  of  year  you  sat  on  the  Senora' s  south  veranda. 

A  wide  straight  walk  shaded  by  a  trellis  so  knotted 
and  twisted  with  grapevines  that  little  was  to  be 
seen  of  the  trellis  wood- work,  led  straight  down  from 
the  veranda  steps,  through  the  middle  of  the  garden, 
to  a  little  brook  at  the  foot  of  it.  Across  this  brook, 
in  the  shade  of  a  dozen  gnarled  old  willow-trees,  were 
set  the  broad  flat  stone  washboards  on  which  was 
done  all  the  family  washing.  No  long  dawdling,  and 
no  running  away  from  work  on  the  part  of  the  maids, 
thus  close  to  the  eye  of  the  Seiiora  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  garden  ;  and  if  they  had  known  how  picturesque 
they  looked  there,  kneeling  on  the  grass,  lifting  the 
dripping  linen  out  of  the  water,  rubbing  it  back  and 
forth  on  the  stones,  sousing  it,  wringing  it,  splashing 
the  clear  water  in  each  other's  faces,  they  would  have 
been  content  to  stay  at  the  washing  day  in  and  day 
out,  for  there  was  always  somebody  to  look  on  from 
above.  Hardly  a  day  passed  that  the  Seiiora  had  not 
visitors.  She  was  still  a  person  of  note  ;  her  house 
'  the  natural  resting-place  for  all  who  journeyed  through 
the  valley  ;  and  whoever  came,  spent  all  of  his  time, 
when  not  eating,  sleeping,  or  walking  over  the  place, 
sitting  with  the  Senora  on  the  sunny  veranda.  Few 
days  in  winter  were  cold  enough,  and  in  summer  the 
day  must  be  hot  indeed  to  drive  the  Senora  and  her 


RAMONA.  .    23 

friends  indoors.  There  stood  on  the  veranda  three 
carved  oaken  chairs,  and  a  carved  bench,  also  of  oak, 
which  had  been  brought  to  the  Senora  for  safe  keeping 
by  the  faithful  old  sacristan  of  San  Luis  Key,  at  the 
time  of  the  occupation  of  that  Mission  by  the  United 
States  troops,  soon  after  the  conquest  of  California. 
Aghast  at  the  sacrilegious  acts  of  the  soldiers,  who 
were  quartered  in  the  very  church  itself,  and  amused 
themselves  by  making  targets  of  the  eyes  and  noses 
of  the  saints'  statues,  the  sacristan,  stealthily,  day  by 
day  and  night  after  night,  bore  out  of  the  church  all 
that  he  dared  to  remove,  burying  some  articles  in 
cottonwood  copses,  hiding  others  in  his  own  poor 
little  hovel,  until  he  had  wagon-loads  of  sacred  treas 
ures.  Then,  still  more  stealthily,  he  carried  them,  a 
few  at  a  time,  concealed  in  the  bottom  of  a  cart,  under 
a  load  of  hay  or  of  brush,  to  the  house  of  the  Senora, 
who  felt  herself  deeply  honored  by  his  confidence,  and 
received  everything  as  a  sacred  trust,  to  be  given  back 
into  the  hands  of  the  Church  again,  whenever  the 
Missions  should  be  restored,  of  which  at  that  time  all 
Catholics  had  good  hope.  And  so  it  had  come  about 
that  no  bedroom  in  the  Sefiora's  house  was  without 
a  picture  or  a  statue  of  a  saint  or  of  the  Madonna ; 
and  some  had  two ;  and  in  the  little  chapel  in  the 
garden  the  altar  was  surrounded  by  a  really  imposing 
row  of  holy  and  apostolic  figures,  which  had  looked 
down  on  the  splendid  ceremonies  of  the  San  Luis  Eey 
Mission,  in  Father  Peyri's  time,  no  more  benignly  than 
they  now  did  on  the  humbler  worship  of  the  Sefiora's 
family  in  its  diminished  estate.  That  one  had  lost 
an  eye,  another  an  arm,  that  the  once  brilliant  colors 
of  the  drapery  were  now  faded  and  shabby,  only  en 
hanced  the  tender  reverence  with  which  the  Senora 
knelt  before  them,  her  eyes  filling  with  indignant 
tears  at  thought  of  the  heretic  hands  which  had 
wrought  such  defilement.  Even  the  crumbling 


24    •  RAMONA. 

wreaths  which  had  been  placed  on  some  of  these 
statues'  heads  at  the  time  of  the  last  ceremonial  at 
which  they  had  figured  in  the  Mission,  had  been 
brought  away  with  them  by  the  devout  sacristan,  and 
the  Seiiora  had  replaced  each  one,  holding  it  only  a 
degree  less  sacred  than  the  statue  itself. 

This  chapel  was  dearer  to  the  Senora  than  her 
house.  It  had  been  built  by  the  General  in  the  sec 
ond  year  of  their  married  life.  In  it  her  four  children 
had  been  christened,  and  from  it  all  but  one,  her  hand 
some  Felipe,  had  been  buried  while  they  were  yet 
infants.  In  the  Greneral's  time,  while  the  estate  was 
at  its  best,  and  hundreds  of  Indians  living  within  its 
borders,  there  was  many  a  Sunday  when  the  scene  to 
be  witnessed  there  was  like  the  scenes  at  the  Missions, 
—  the  chapel  full  of  kneeling  men  and  women  ;  those 
who  could  not  find  room  inside  kneeling  on  the  gar 
den  walks  outside  ;  Father  Salvierderra,  in  gorgeous 
vestments,  coming,  at  close  of  the  services,  slowly 
down  the  aisle,  the  close-packed  rows  of  worshippers 
parting  to  right  and  left  to  let  him  through,  all  look 
ing  up  eagerly  for  his  blessing,  women  giving  him 
offerings  of  fruit  or  flowers,  and  holding  up  their 
babies  that  he  might  lay  his  hands  on  their  heads. 
No  one  but  Father  Salvierderra  had  ever  officiated  in 
the  Moreno  chapel,  or  heard  the  confession  of  a  Mo 
reno.  He  was  a  Franciscan,  one  of  the  few  now  left 
in  the  country ;  so  revered  and  beloved  by  all  who 
had  come  under  his  influence,  that  they  would  wait 
long  months  without  the  offices  of  the  Church,  rather 
than  confess  their  sins  or  confide  their  perplexities  to 
any  one  else.  From  this  deep-seated  attachment  on 
the  part  of  the  Indians  and  the  older  Mexican  families 
in  the  country  to  the  Franciscan  Order,  there  had 
grown  up,  not  unnaturally,  some  jealousy  of  them  in 
the  minds  of  the  later-come  secular  priests,  and  the 
position  of  the  few  monks  left  was  not  wholly  a 


RAMONA.  25 

pleasant  one.  It  had  even  been  rumored  that  they 
were  to  be  forbidden  to  continue  longer  their  practice 
of  going  up  and  down  the  country,  ministering  every 
where  ;  were  to  be  compelled  to  restrict  their  labors 
to  their  own  colleges  at  Santa  Barbara  and  Santa 
Inez.  When  something  to  this  effect  was  one  day 
said  in  the  Seilora  Moreno's  presence,  two  scarlet 
spots  sprang  on  her  cheeks,  and  before  she  bethought 
herself,  she  exclaimed,  "  That  day,  I  burn  down  my 
chapel ! " 

Luckily,  nobody  but  Felipe  heard  the  rash  threat, 
and  his  exclamation  of  unbounded  astonishment  re 
called  the  Sefiora  to  herself. 

"I  spoke  rashly,  my  son,"  she  said.  "The  Church 
is  to  be  obeyed  always ;  but  the  Franciscan  Fathers 
are  responsible  to  no  one  but  the  Superior  of  their 
own  order ;  and  there  is  no  one  in  this  land  who  has 
the  authority  to  forbid  their  journeying  and  minister 
ing  to  whoever  desires  their  offices.  As  for  these 
Catalan  priests  who  are  coming  in  here,  I  cannot 
abide  them.  No  Catalan  but  has  bad  blood  in  his 
veins  ! " 

There  was  every  reason  in  the  world  why  the 
Seilora  should  be  thus  warmly  attached  to  the  Fran 
ciscan  Order.  From  her  earliest  recollections  the 
gray  gown  and  cowl  had  been  familiar  to  her  eyes, 
and  had  represented  the  things  which  she  was  taught 
to  hold  most  sacred  and  dear.  Father  Salvierderra 
himself  had  come  from  Mexico  to  Monterey  in  the 
same  ship  which  had  brought  her  father  to  be  the 
commandante  of  the  Santa  Barbara  Presidio  ;  and  her 
best-beloved  uncle,  her  father's  eldest  brother,  was  at 
that  time  the  Superior  of  the  Santa  Barbara  Mission. 
The  sentiment  and  romance  of  her  youth  were  almost 
equally  divided  between  the  gayeties,  excitements, 
adornments  of  the  life  at  the  Presidio,  and  the 
ceremonies  and  devotions  of  the  life  at  the  Mission. 


26  RAMONA. 

She  was  famed  as  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  the  coun 
try.  Men  of  the  army,  men  of  the  navy,  and  men  of 
the  Church,  alike  adored  her.  Her  name  was  a  toast 
from  Monterey  to  San  Diego.  When  at  last  she  was 
wooed  and  won  by  Felipe  Moreno,  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  of  the  Mexican  generals,  her  wedding 
ceremonies  were  the  most  splendid  ever  seen  in  the 
country.  The  right  tower  of  the  Mission  church  at 
Santa  Barbara  had  been  just  completed,  and  it  was 
arranged  that  the  consecration  of  this  tower  should 
take  place  at  the  time  of  her  wedding,  and  that  her 
wedding  feast  should  be  spread  in  the  long  outside 
corridor  of  the  Mission  building.  The  whole  country, 
far  and  near,  was  bid.  The  feast  lasted  three  days ; 
open  tables  to  everybody;  singing,  dancing,  eating, 
drinking,  and  making  merry.  At  that  time  there 
were  long  streets  of  Indian  houses  stretching  east 
ward  from  the  Mission ;  before  each  of  these  houses 
was  built  a  booth  of  green  boughs.  The  Indians,  as 
well  as  the  Fathers  from  all  the  other  Missions,  were 
invited  to  come.  The  Indians  came  in  bands,  sing 
ing  songs  and  bringing  gifts.  As  they  appeared,  the 
Santa  Barbara  Indians  went  out  to  meet  them,  also 
singing,  bearing  gifts,  and  strewing  seeds  on  the 
ground,  in  token  of  welcome.  The  young  Senora  and 
her  bridegroom,  splendidly  clothed,  were  seen  of  all, 
and  greeted,  whenever  they  appeared,  by  showers  of 
seeds  and  grains  and  blossoms.  On  the  third  day, 
still  in  their  wedding  attire,  and  bearing  lighted 
caudles  in  their  hands,  they  walked  with  the  monks 
in  a  procession,  round  and  round  the  new  tower,  the 
monks  chanting,  and  sprinkling  incense  and  holy 
water  on  its  walls,  the  ceremony  seeming  to  all  devout 
beholders  to  give  a  blessed  consecration  to  the  union 
of  the  young  pair  as  well  as  to  the  newly  completed 
tower.  After  this  they  journeyed  in  state,  accom 
panied  by  several  of  the  General's  aids  and  officers, 


RAMONA.  27 

and  by  two  Franciscan  Fathers,  up  to  Monterey,  stop 
ping  on  their  way  at  all  the  Missions,  and  being 
warmly  welcomed  and  entertained  at  each. 

General  Moreno  was  much  beloved  by  both  army 
and  Church.  In  many  of  the  frequent  clashings  be 
tween  the  military  and  the  ecclesiastical  powers  he, 
being  as  devout  and  enthusiastic  a  Catholic  as  he  was 
zealous  and  enthusiastic  a  soldier,  had  had  the  good 
fortune  to  be  of  material  assistance  to  each  party. 
The  Indians  also  knew  his  name  well,  having  heard 
it  many  times  mentioned  with  public  thanksgivings 
in  the  Mission  churches,  after  some  signal  service 
he  had  rendered  to  the  Fathers  either  in  Mexico  or 
Monterey.  And  now,  by  taking  as  his  bride  the 
daughter  of  a  distinguished  officer,  and  the  niece  of 
the  Santa  Barbara  Superior,  he  had  linked  himself 
anew  to  the  two  dominant  powers  and  interests  of  the 
country. 

When  they  reached  San  Luis  Obispo,  the  whole 
Indian  population  turned  out  to  meet  them,  the 
Padre  walking  at  the  head.  As  they  approached  the 
Mission  doors  the  Indians  swarmed  closer  and  closer 
and  still  closer,  took  the  General's  horse  by  the  head, 
and  finally  almost  by  actual  force  compelled  him  to 
allow  himself  to  be  lifted  into  a  blanket,  held  high  up 
by  twenty  strong  men  ;  and  thus  he  was  borne  up  the 
steps,  across  the  corridor,  and  into  the  Padre's  room. 
It  was  a  position  ludicrously  undignified  in  itself,  but 
the  General  submitted  to  it  good-naturedly. 

"  Oh,  let  them  do  it,  if  they  like,"  he  cried,  laugh 
ingly,  to  Padre  Martinez,  who  was  endeavoring  to 
quiet  the  Indians  and  hold  them  back;  "Let  them 
do  it.  It  pleases  the  poor  creatures." 

On  the  morning  of  their  departure,  the  good  Padre, 
having  exhausted  all  his  resources  for  entertaining  his 
distinguished  guests,  caused  to  be  driven  past  the  cor 
ridors,  for  their  inspection,  all  the  poultry  belonging 


28  RAMONA. 

to  the  Mission.  The  procession  took  an  hour  to  pass. 
For  music,  there  was  the  squeaking,  cackling,  hissing, 
gobbling,  crowing,  quacking  of  the  fowls,  combined 
with  the  screaming,  scolding,  and  whip-cracking  of  the 
excited  Indian  marshals  of  the  lines.  First  came  the 
turkeys,  then  the  roosters,  then  the  white  hens,  then 
the  black,  and  then  the  yellow,  next  the  ducks,  and 
at  the  tail  of  the  spectacle  long  files  of  geese,  some 
strutting,  some  half  flying  and  hissing  in  resentment 
and  terror  at  the  unwonted  coercions  to  which  they 
were  subjected.  The  Indians  had  been  hard  at  work 
all  night  capturing,  sorting,  assorting,  and  guarding 
the  rank  and  file  of  their  novel  pageant.  It  would 
be  safe  to  say  that  a  droller  sight  never  was  seen, 
and  never  will  be,  on  the  Pacific  coast  or  any  other. 
Before  it  was  done  with,  the  General  and  his  bride 
had  nearly  died  with  laughter;  and  the  General  could 
never  allude  to  it  without  laughing  almost  as  heartily 
again. 

At  Monterey  they  were  more  magnificently  feted ; 
at  the  Presidio,  at  the  Mission,  on  board  Spanish, 
Mexican,  and  Eussian  ships  lying  in  harbor,  balls, 
dances,  bull-fights,  dinners,  all  that  the  country  knew 
of  festivity,  was  lavished  on  the  beautiful  and  win 
ning  young  bride  The  belles  of  the  coast,  from  San 
Diego  up,  had  all  gathered  at  Monterey  for  these 
gayeties ;  but  not  one  of  them  could  be  for  a  moment 
compared  to  her.  This  was  the  beginning  of  the 
Senora's  life  as  a  married  woman.  She  was  then 
just  twenty  A  close  observer  would  have  seen  even 
then,  underneath  the  joyous  smile,  the  laughing  eye, 
the  merry  voice,  a  look  thoughtful,  tender,  earnest,  at 
times  enthusiastic.  This  look  was  the  reflection  of 
those  qualities  in  her,  then  hardly  aroused,  which 
made  her,  as  years  developed  her  character  and 
stormy  fates  thickened  around  her  life,  the  unflinch 
ing  comrade  of  her  soldier  husband,  the  passionate 


RAMONA.  29 

adherent  of  the  Church.  Through  wars,  insurrec 
tions,  revolutions,  downfalls,  Spanish,  Mexican,  civil, 
ecclesiastical,  her  standpoint,  her  poise,  remained  the( 
same.  She  simply  grew  more  and  more  proudly, 
passionately,  a  Spaniard  and  a  Moreno;  more  and 
more  stanchly  and  iierily  a  Catholic,  and  a  lover  of 
the  Franciscans. 

During  the  height  of  the  despoiling  and  plunder 
ing  of  the  Missions,  under  the  Secularization  Act,  she 
was  for  a  few  years  almost  beside  herself.  More 
than  once  she  journeyed  alone,  when  the  journey  was 
by  no  means  without  danger,  to  Monterey,  to  stir  up 
the  Prefect  of  the  Missions  to  more  energetic  action, 
to  implore  the  governmental  authorities  to  interfere, 
and  protect  the  Church's  property.  It  was  largely  in 
consequence  of  her  eloquent  entreaties  that  Governor 
Micheltorena  issued  his  bootless  order,  restoring  to 
the  Church  all  the  Missions  south  of  San  Luis  Obispo. 
But  this  order  cost  Micheltorena  his  political  head, 
and  General  Moreno  was  severely  wounded  in  one 
of  the  skirmishes  of  the  insurrection  which  drove 
Micheltorena  out  of  the  country. 

In  silence  and  bitter  humiliation  the  Sefiora  nursed 
her  husband  back  to  health  again,  and  resolved  to 
meddle  no  more  in  the  affairs  of  her  unhappy  country 
and  still  more  unhappy  Church.  As  year  by  year 
she  saw  the  ruin  of  the  Missions  steadily  going  on, 
their  vast  properties  melting  away,  like  dew  before 
the  sun,  in  the  hands  of  dishonest  administrators 
and  politicians,  the  Church  powerless  to  contend  with 
the  unprincipled  greed  in  high  places,  her  beloved 
Franciscan  Fathers  driven  from  the  country  or  dying 
of  starvation  at  their  posts,  she  submitted  herself  to 
what,  she  was  forced  to  admit,  seemed  to  be  the  inscru 
table  will  of  God  for  the  discipline  and  humiliation  of 
the  Church.  In  a  sort  of  bewildered  resignation  she 
waited  to  see  what  farther  sufferings  were  to  come, 


30  RAMUNA. 

to  fill  up  the  measure  of  the  punishment  which,  for 
some  mysterious  purpose,  the  faithful  must  endure. 
But  when  close  upon  all  this  discomfiture  and  hu 
miliation  of  her  Church  followed  the  discomfiture  and 
humiliation  of  her  country  in  war,  and  the  near  and 
evident  danger  of  an  English-speaking  people's  possess 
ing  the  land,  all  the  smothered  fire  of  the  Seiiora's 
nature  broke  out  afresh.  With  unfaltering  hands  she 
buckled  on  her  husband's  sword,  and  with  dry  eyes 
saw  him  go  forth  to  fight.  She  had  but  one  regret, 
that  she  was  not  the  mother  of  sons  to  fight  also. 

"  Would  thou  wert  a  man,  Felipe,"  she  exclaimed 
again  and  again  in  tones  the  child  never  forgot. 
"  Would  thou  wert  a  man,  that  thou  might  go  also  to 
fight  these  foreigners !  " 

Any  race  under  the  sun  would  have  been  to  the 
Seiiora  less  hateful  than  the  American.  She  had 
scorned  them  in  her  girlhood,  when  they  came  trad 
ing  to  post  after  post.  She  scorned  them  still.  The 
idea  of  being  forced  to  wage  a  war  with  pedlers  was 
to  her  too  monstrous  to  be  believed.  In  the  outset 
she  had  no  doubt  that  the  Mexicans  would  win  in  the 
contest. 

"  What !  "  she  cried,  "  shall  we  who  won  independ 
ence  from  Spain,  be  beaten  by  these  traders  ?  It  is 
impossible  ! " 

When  her  husband  was  brought  home  to  her  dead, 
killed  in  the  last  fight  the  Mexican  forces  made,  she 
said  icily,  "  He  would  have  chosen  to  die  rather  than 
to  have  been  forced  to  see  his  country  in  the  hands 
of  the  enemy."  And  she  was  almost  frightened  at 
herself  to  see  how  this  thought,  as  it  dwelt  in  her 
mind,  slew  the  grief  in  her  heart.  She  had  believed 
she  could  not  live  if  her  husband  were  to  be  taken 
away  from  her  ;  but  she  found  herself  often  glad 
that  he  was  dead,  —  glad  that  he  was  spared  the  sight 
and  the  knowledge  of  the  things  which  happened; 


RAMONA.  31 

and  even  the  yearning  tenderness  with  which  her 
imagination  pictured  him  among  the  saints,  was  often 
turned  into  a  fierce  wondering  whether  indignation 
did  not  fill  his  soul,  even  in  heaven,  at  the  way  things 
were  going  in  the  land  for  whose  sake  he  had  died. 

Out  of  such  throes  as  these  had  been  born  the 
second  nature  which  made  Senora  Moreno  the  silent, 
reserved,  stern,  implacable  woman  they  knew,  who 
knew  her  first  when  she  was  sixty.  Of  the  gay, 
tender,  sentimental  girl,  who  danced  and  laughed 
with  the  officers,  and  prayed  and  confessed  with  the 
Fathers,  forty  years  before,  there  was  small  trace  left 
now,  in  the  low-voiced,  white-haired,  aged  woman, 
silent,  unsmiling,  placid-faced,  who  manoeuvred  with 
her  son  and  her  head  shepherd  alike,  to  bring  it  about 
that  a  handful  of  Indians  might  once  more  confess 
their  sins  to  a  Franciscan  monk  in  the  Moreno 
chapel. 


111. 


JUAN"  CANITO  and  Seiior  Felipe  were  not  the 
only  members  of  the  Sefiora's  family  who  were 
impatient  for  the  sheep-shearing.  There  was  also 
Eamona.  Eamona  was,  to  the  world  at  large,  a  far 
more  important  person  than  the  Senora  herself.  The 
Senora  was  of  the  past ;  Eamona  was  of  the  present. 
For  one  eye  that  could  see  the  significant,  at  times 
solemn,  beauty  of  the  Senora's  pale  and  shadowed 
countenance,  there  were  a  hundred  that  ilasncd  with 
eager  pleasure  at  the  barest  glimpse  of  Eamona's 
face ;  the  shepherds,  the  herdsmen,  the  maids,  the 
babies,  the  dogs,  the  poultry,  all  loved  the  sight  of 
Eamona ;  all  loved  her,  except  tho  Senora.  The 
Seiiora  loved  her  not ;  never  had  loved  her,  never 
could  love  her ;  and  yet  she  had  stood  in  the  place 
of  mother  to  the  girl  ever  since  her  childhood,  and 
never  once  during  the  whole  sixteen  years  of  her 
life  had  shown  her  any  unkindness  in  act.  She  had 
promised  to  be  a  mother  to  her ;  and  with  all  the 
inalienable  stanchness  of  her  nature  she  fulfilled  the 
letter  of  her  promise.  More  than  the  bond  lay  in 
the  bond  ;  but  that  was  not  the  Senora's  fault. 

The  story  of  Eamona  the  Senora  never  told.  To 
most  of  the  Sefiora's  acquaintances  now,  Eamona  was 
a  mystery.  They  did  not  know  —  and  no  one  ever 
asked  a  prying  question  of  the  Senora  Moreno  —  who 
Eamona's  parents  were,  whether  they  were  living  or 
dead,  or  why  Eamona,  her  name  not  being  Moreno, 
lived  always  in  the  Senora's  house  as  a  daughter, 


RAMONA.  33 

tended  and  attended  equally  with  the  adored  Felipe. 
A  few  gray-haired  men  and  women  here  and  there  in 
the  country  could  have  told  the  strange  story  of  Ra- 
mona ;  but  its  beginning  was  more  than  a  halt-cen 
tury  back,  and  much  had  happened  since  then.  They 
seldom  thought  of  the  child.  They  knew  she  was  in 
the  Seiiora  Moreno's  keeping,  and  that  was  enough. 
The  affairs  of  the  generation  just  going  out  were  not 
the  business  of  the  young  people  coming  in.  They 
would  have  tragedies  enough  of  their  own  presently ; 
what  was  the  use  of  passing  down  the  old  ones  ? 
Yet  the  story  was  not  one  to  be  forgotten ;  and  now 
and  then  it  was  told  in  the  twilight  of  a  summer 
evening,  or  in  the  shadows  of  vines  on  a  lingering 
afternoon,  and  all  young  men  and  maidens  thrilled 
who  heard  it. 

It  was  an  elder  sister  of  the  Senora's,  —  a  sister 
old  enough  to  be  wooed  and  won  while  the  Senora 
was  yet  at  play,  —  who  had  been  promised  in  marriage 
to  a  young  Scotchman  named  Angus  Phail.  She  was 
a  beautiful  woman  ;  and  Angus  Phail,  from  the  day 
that  he  first  saw  her  standing  in  the  Presidio  gate, 
became  so  madly  her  lover,  that  he  was  like  a  man 
bereft  of  his  senses.  This  was  the  only  excuse  ever 
to  be  made  for  Kamona  Gonzaga's  deed.  It  could 
never  be  denied,  by  her  bitterest  accusers,  that,  at  the 
first,  and  indeed  for  many  months,  she  told  Angus 
she  did  not  love  him,  and  could  not  marry  him  ;  and 
that  it  was  only  after  his  stormy  and  ceaseless  en 
treaties,  that  she  did  finally  promise  to  become  his  wife. 
Then,  almost  immediately,  she  went  away  to  Mon 
terey,  and  Angus  set  sail  for  San  Bias.  He  was  the 
owner  of  the  richest  line  of  ships  which  traded  along 
the  coast  at  that  time ;  the  richest  stuffs,  carvings, 
woods,  pearls,  and  jewels,  which  came  into  the  country, 
came  in  his  ships.  The  arrival  of  one  of  them  was 
always  an  event ;  and  Angus  himself,  having  been 


34  RAMONA. 

well-born  in  Scotland,  and  being  wonderfully  well- 
mannered  for  a  seafaring  man,  was  made  welcome 
in  all  the  best  houses,  wherever  his  ships  went  into 
harbor,  from  Monterey  to  San  Diego. 

The  Senorita  Kamona  Gonzaga  sailed  for  Monterey 
the  same  day  and  hour  her  lover  sailed  for  San  Bias. 
They  stood  on  the  decks  waving  signals  to  each  other 
as  one  sailed  away  to  the  south,  the  other  to  the  north. 
It  was  remembered  afterward  by  those  who  were  in 
the  ship  with  the  Senorita,  that  she  ceased  to  wave 
her  signals,  and  had  turned  her  face  away,  long  be 
fore  her  lover's  ship  was  out  of  sight.  But  the  men 
of  the  "  San  Jose  "  said  that  Angus  Phail  stood  im 
movable,  gazing  northward,  till  nightfall  shut  from  his 
sight  even  the  horizon  line  at  which  the  Monterey 
ship  had  long  before  disappeared  from  view. 

This  was  to  be  his  last  voyage.  He  went  on  this 
only  because  his  honor  was  pledged  to  do  so.  Also, 
lie  comforted  himself  by  thinking  that  he  would  bring 
back  for  his  bride,  and  for  the  home  he  meant  to  give 
her,  treasures  of  all  sorts,  which  none  could  select  so 
well  as  he.  Through  the  long  weeks  of  the  voyage 
he  sat  on  deck,  gazing  dreamily  at  the  waves,  and 
letting  his  imagination  feed  on  pictures  of  jewels, 
satins,  velvets,  laces,  which  would  best  deck  his  wife's 
form  and  face.  When  he  could  no  longer  bear  the 
vivid  fancies'  heat  in  his  blood,  he  would  pace  the 
deck,  swifter  and  swifter,  till  his  steps  were  like  those 
of  one  flying  in  fear ;  at  such  times  the  men  heard 
him  muttering  and  whispering  to  himself,  "  Kamona ! 
Kamona  !  "  Mad  with  love  from  the  first  to  the  last 
was  Angus  Phail ;  and  there  were  many  who  believed 
that  if  he  had  ever  seen  the  hour  when  he  called 
Eamona  Gonzaga  his  own,  his  reason  would  have  fled 
forever  at  that  moment,  and  he  would  have  killed 
either  her  or  himself,  as  men  thus  mad  have  been 
known  to  do.  But  that  hour  never  came.  When, 


RAMON  A.  35 

eight  months  later,  the  "  San  Jose "  sailed  into  the 
Santa  Barbara  harbor,  and  Angus  Phail  leaped  breath 
less  on  shore,  the  second  man  he  met,  no  friend  of 
his,  looking  him  maliciously  in  the  face,  said  :  "  So, 
ho  !  You  're  just  too  late  for  the  wedding  !  Your 
sweetheart,  the  handsome  Gonzaga  girl,  was  married 
here,  yesterday,  to  a  fine  young  officer  of  the  Monterey 
Presidio ! " 

Angus  reeled,  struck  the  man  a  blow  full  in  the 
face,  and  fell  on  the  ground,  foaming  at  the  mouth. 
He  was  lifted  and  carried  into  a  house,  and,  speedily 
recovering,  burst  with  the  strength  of  a  giant  from 
the  hands  of  those  who  were  holding  him,  sprang  out 
of  the  door,  and  ran  bareheaded  up  the  road  toward 
the  Presidio.  At  the  gate  he  was  stopped  by  the 
guard,  who  knew  him. 

"  Is  it  true  ?  "  gasped  Angus. 

"  Yes,  Senor,"  replied  the  man,  who  said  afterward 
that  his  knees  shook  under  him  with  terror  at  the 
look  on  the  Scotchman's  face.  He  feared  he  would 
strike  him  dead  for  his  reply.  But,  instead,  Angus 
burst  into  a  maudlin  laugh,  and,  turning  away,  went 
staggering  down  the  street,  singing  and  laughing. 

The  next  that  was  known  of  him  was  in  a  low 
drinking-place,  where  he  was  seen  lying  on  the  floor, 
dead  drunk ;  and  from  that  day  he  sank  lower  and 
lower,  till  one  of  the  commonest  sights  to  be  seen  in 
Santa  Barbara  was  Angus  Phail  reeling  about,  tipsy, 
coarse,  loud,  profane,  dangerous. 

"  See  what  the  Senorita  escaped  ! "  said  the  thought 
less.  "  She  was  quite  right  not  to  have  married  such 
a  drunken  wretch." 

In  the  rare  intervals  when  he  was  partially  sober,  he 
sold  all  he  possessed,  —  ship  after  ship  sold  for  a  song, 
and  the  proceeds  squandered  in  drinking  or  worse. 
He  never  had  a  sight  of  his  lost  bride.  He  did  not 
seek  it ;  and  she,  terrified,  took  every  precaution  to 


36  RAMON  A. 

avoid   it,  and  soon  returned  with  her   husband   to 
Monterey. 

Finally  Angus  disappeared,  and  after  a  time  the 
news  came  up  from  Los  Angeles  that  he  was  there, 
had  gone  out  to  the  San  Gabriel  Mission,  and  was 
living  with  the  Indians.  Some  years  later  came  the 
still  more  surprising  news  that  he  had  married  a 
squaw,  —  a  squaw  with  several  Indian  children,  — 
had  been  legally  married  by  the  priest  in  the  San 
Gabriel  Mission  Church.  And  that  was  the  last  that 
the  faithless  Kamona  Gonzaga  ever  heard  of  her  lover, 
until  twenty-five  years  after  her  marriage,  when  one 
day  he  suddenly  appeared  in  her  presence.  How 
he  had  gained  admittance  to  the  house  was  never 
known ;  but  there  he  stood  before  her,  bearing  in  his 
arms  a  beautiful  babe,  asleep.  Drawing  himself  up 
to  the  utmost  of  his  six  feet  of  height,  and  looking 
at  her  sternly,  with  eyes  blue  like  steel,  he  said : 
"Seiiora  Ortegna,  you  once  did  me  a  great  wrong. 
You  sinned,  and  the  Lord  has  punished  you.  He 
has  denied  you  children.  I  also  have  done  a  wrong  ; 
I  have  sinned,  and  the  Lord  has  punished  me.  He 
has  given  me  a  child.  I  ask  once  more  at  your 
hands  a  boon.  Will  you  take  this  child  of  mine, 
and  bring  it  up  as  a  child  of  yours,  or  of  mine,  ought 
to  be  brought  up  ?  " 

The  tears  were  rolling  down  the  Senora  Ortegna's 
cheeks.  The  Lord  had  indeed  punished  her  in  more 
ways  than  Angus  Phail  knew.  Her  childlessness, 
bitter  as  that  had  been,  was  the  least  of  them. 
Speechless,  she  rose,  and  stretched  out  her  arms  for 
the  child.  He  placed  it  in  them.  Still  the  child 
slept  on,  undisturbed. 

"  I  do  not  know  if  I  will  be  permitted,"  she  said 
falteringly ;  "  my  husband  —  " 

"  Father  Salvierderra  will  command  it.  I  have  seen 
him,"  replied  Angus. 


RAM  ON  A.  37 

The  Seiiora's  face  brightened.  "  If  that  be  so,  I 
hope  it  can  be  as  you  wish,"  she  said.  Then  a  strange 
embarrassment  came  upon  her,  and  looking  down 
upon  the  infant,  she  said  inquiringly,  "  But  the 
child's  mother  ? " 

Angus's  face  turned  swarthy  red.  Perhaps,  face 
to  face  with  this  gentle  and  still  lovely  woman  ha 
had  once  so  loved,  ha  first  realized  to  the  full  how 
wickedly  he  had  thrown  away  his  life.  With  a  quick 
wave  of  his  hand,  which  spoke  volumes,  he  said: 
"  That  is  nothing.  She  has  other  children,  of  her 
own  blood.  This  is  mine,  my  only  one,  my  daughter. 
I  wish  her  to  be  yours ;  otherwise,  she  will  be  taken 
by  the  Church." 

With  each  second  that  she  felt  the  little  warm 
body's  tender  weight  in  her  arms,  Eamona  Ortegna's 
heart  had  more  and  more  yearned  towards  the  infant. 
At  these  wrords  she  bent  her  face  down  and  kissed 
its  cheek.  "  Oh  no  !  not  to  the  Church  !  I  will  love 
it  as  my  own,"  she  said. 

Angus  Phail's  face  quivered.  Feelings  long  dead 
within  him  stirred  in  their  graves.  He  gazed  at  the 
sad  and  altered  face,  once  so  beautiful,  so  dear.  "  I 
should  hardly  have  known  you,  Senora ! "  burst  from 
him  involuntarily. 

She  smiled  piteously,  with  no  resentment.  "  That 
is  not  strange.  I  hardly  know  myself,"  she  whispered. 
"  Life  has  dealt  very  hardly  with  me.  I  should  not 
have  known  you  either  —  Angus."  She  pronounced 
his  name  hesitatingly,  half  appealingly.  At  the  sound 
of  the  familiar  syllables,  so  long  unheard,  the  man's 
heart  broke  down.  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
and  sobbed  out :  "  0  Kamona,  forgive  me !  I  brought 
the  child  here,  not  wholly  in  love ;  partly  in  ven 
geance.  But  I  am  melted  now.  Are  you  sure  you 
wish  to  keep  her  ?  I  will  take  her  away  if  you  are 
not." 


38  RAMONA. 

"  Never,  so  long  as  I  live,  Angus,"  replied  Seftora 
Ortegna.  "  Already  I  feel  that  she  is  a  mercy  from 
the  Lord.  If  my  husband  sees  no  offence  in  her 
presence,  she  will  be  a  joy  in  my  life.  Has  she  been 
christened  ? " 

i  Angus  cast  his  eyes  down.  A  sudden  fear  smote 
him.  "  Before  I  had  thought  of  bringing  her  to  you," 
he  stammered,  "  at  first  I  had  only  the  thought  of 
giving  her  to  the  Church.  I  had  had  her  christened 
by  "  —  the  words  refused  to  leave  his  lips  —  "  the 
name  —  Can  you  not  guess,  Senora,  what  name  she 
bears  ? " 

The  Senora  knew.     "  My  own  ? "  she  said. 

Angus  bowed  his  head.  "  The  only  woman's 
name  that  my  lips  ever  spoke  with  love,"  he  said, 
reassured,  "  was  the  name  my  daughter  should 
bear." 

"It  is  well,"  replied  the  Senora.  Then  a  great 
silence  fell  between  them.  Each  studied  the  other's 
face,  tenderly,  bewilderedly.  Then  by  a  simultaneous 
impulse  they  drew  nearer.  Angus  stretched  out  both 
his  arms  with  a  gesture  of  infinite  love  and  despair, 
bent  down  and  kissed  the  hands  which  lovingly  held 
his  sleeping  child. 

"  God  bless  you,  Eamona !  Farewell !  You  will 
never  see  me  more,"  he  cried,  and  was  gone. 

In  a  moment  more  he  reappeared  on  the  threshold 
of  the  door,  but  only  to  say  in  a  low  tone,  "  There  is 
no  need  to  be  alarmed  if  the  child  does  not  wake  for 
some  hours  yet.  She  has  had  a  safe  sleeping-potion 
'given  her.  It  will  not  harm  her." 
i  One  more  long  lingering  look  into  each  other's 
faces,  and  the  two  lovers,  so  strangely  parted,  still 
more  strangely  met,  had  parted  again,  forever.  The 
quarter  of  a  century  which  had  lain  between  them 
had  been  bridged  in  both  their  hearts  as  if  it  were 
but  a  day.  In  the  heart  of  the  man  it  was  the  old 


RAM  ON  A.  39 

passionate  adoring  love  reawakening ;  a  resurrection 
of  the  buried  dead,  to  full  life,  with  lineaments  un 
changed.  In  the  woman  it  was  not  that ;  there  was 
no  buried  love  to  come  to  such  resurrection  in  her 
heart,  for  she  had  never  loved  Angus  Phail.  But, 
long  unloved,  ill-treated,  heart-broken,  she  woke  at 
that  moment  to  the  realization  of  what  manner  of  love 
it  had  been  which  she  had  thrown  away  in  her  youth  ; 
her  whole  being  yearned  for  it  now,  and  Angus  was 
avenged. 

When  Francis  Ortegna,  late  that  night,  reeled,  half- 
tipsy,  into  his  wife's  room,  he  was  suddenly  sobered 
by  the  sight  which  met  his  eyes,  —  his  wife  kneeling 
by  the  side  of  a  cradle,  in  which  lay,  smiling  in  its 
sleep,  a  beautiful  infant. 

"  What  in  the  devil's  name,"  he  began  ;  then  recol 
lecting,  he  muttered  :  "  Oh,  the  Indian  brat !  I  see  ! 
I  wish  you  joy,  Senora  Ortegna,  of  your  first  child  ! " 
and  with  a  mock  bow,  and  cruel  sneer,  he  staggered 
by,  giving  the  cradle  an  angry  thrust  with  his  foot 
as  he  passed. 

The  brutal  taunt  did  not  much  wound  the  Senora. 
The  time  had  long  since  passed  when  unkind  words 
from  her  husband  could  give  her  keen  pain.  But  it 
was  a  warning  not  lost  upon  her  new-born  mother 
instinct,  and  from  that  day  the  little  Ramona  was 
carefully  kept  and  tended  in  apartments  where  there 
was  no  danger  of  her  being  seen  by  the  man  to  whom 
the  sight  of  her  baby  face  was  only  a  signal  for  anger 
and  indecency. 

Hitherto  Ramona  Ortegna  had,  so  far  as  was  possible, 
carefully  concealed  from  her  family  the  unhappiuess 
of  her  married  life.  Ortegna's  character  was  indeed 
well  known ;  his  neglect  of  his  wife,  his  shameful 
dissipations  of  all  sorts,  were  notorious  in  every  port 
in  the  country.  But  from  the  wife  herself  no  one 
had  even  heard  so  much  as  a  syllable  of  complaint. 


40  RAM  ON  A. 

She  was  a  Gonzaga,  and  she  knew  how  to  suffer  in 
silence.  But  now  she  saw  a  reason  for  taking  her 
sister  into  her  confidence.  It  was  plain  to  her  that 
she  had  not  many  years  to  live ;  and  what  then  would 
become  of  the  child  ?  Left  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
Ortegna,  it  was  only  too  certain  what  would  become  of 
her.  Long  sad  hours  of  perplexity  the  lonely  woman 
passed,  with  the  little  laughing  babe  in  her  arms, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  forecast  her  future.  The  near 
chance  of  her  own  death  had  not  occurred  to  her 
mind  when  she  accepted  the  trust. 

Before  the  little  Eamona  was  a  year  old,  Angus 
Phail  died.  An  Indian  messenger  from  San  Gabriel 
brought  the  news  to  Sefiora  Ortegna.  He  brought 
her  also  a  box  and  a  letter,  given  to  him  by  Angus 
the  day  before  his  death.  The  box  contained  jewels 
of  value,  of  fashions  a  quarter  of  a  century  old.  They 
were  the  jewels  which  Angus  had  bought  for  his 
bride.  These  alone  remained  of  all  his  fortune. 
Even  in  the  lowest  depths  of  his  degradation,  a 
certain  sentiment  had  restrained  him  from  parting 
with  them.  The  letter  contained  only  these  words : 
"I  send  you  all  I  have  to  leave  my  daughter.  I 
meant  to  bring  them  myself  this  year.  I  wished  to 
kiss  your  hands  and  hers  once  more.  But  I  am 
dying.  Farewell." 

After  these  jewels  were  in  her  possession,  Senora 
Ortegna  rested  not  till  she  had  persuaded  Seiiora 
Moreno  to  journey  to  Monterey,  and  had  put  the  box 
into  her  keeping  as  a  sacred  trust.  She  also  won 
from  her  a  solemn  promise  that  at  her  own  death 
she  would  adopt  the  little  Eamona.  This  promise 
came  hard  from  Senora  Moreno.  Except  for  Father 
Salvierderra's  influence,  she  had  not  given  it.  She 
did  not  wish  any  dealings  with  such  alien  and  mon 
grel  blood.  "  If  the  child  were  pure  Indian,  I  would 
like  it  better,"  she  said.  "  I  like  not  these  crosses. 


RAM  ON  A.  41 

It  is  the  worst,  and  not  the  best  of  each,  that 
remains." 

But  the  promise  once  given,  Senora  Ortegna  was 
content.  Well  she  knew  that  her  sister  would  not  lie, 
nor  evade  a  trust.  The  little  Ramona's  future  was 
assured.  During  the  last  years  of  the  unhappy  wo 
man's  life  the  child  was  her  only  comfort.  Ortegna's 
conduct  had  become  so  openly  and  defiantly  infamous, 
that  he  even  flaunted  his  illegitimate  relations  in  his 
wife's  presence ;  subjecting  her  to  gross  insults,  spite 
of  her  helpless  invalidism.  This  last  outrage  was  too 
much  for  the  Gonzaga  blood  to  endure ;  the  Senora 
never  afterward  left  her  apartment,  or  spoke  to  her 
husband.  Once  more  she  sent  for  her  sister  to  come ; 
this  time,  to  see  her  die.  Every  valuable  she  pos 
sessed,  jewels,  laces,  brocades,  and  damasks,  she  gave 
into  her  sister's  charge,  to  save  them  from  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  base  creature  that  she  knew  only 
too  well  would  stand  in  her  place  as  soon  as  the 
funeral  services  had  been  said  over  her  dead  body. 

Stealthily,  as  if  she  had  been  a  thief,  the  sorrowing 
Senora  Moreno  conveyed  her  sister's  wardrobe,  article 
by  article,  out  of  the  house,  to  be  sent  to  her  own 
home.  It  was  the  wardrobe  of  a  princess.  The 
Ortegnas  lavished  money  always  on  the  women  whose 
hearts  they  broke ;  and  never  ceased  to  demand  of 
them  that  they  should  sit  superbly  arrayed  in  their 
lonely  wretchedness. 

One  hour  after  the  funeral,  with  a  scant  and  icy 
ceremony  of  farewell  to  her  dead  sister's  husband, 
Senora  Moreno,  leading  the  little  four-year-old 
Eamona  by  the  hand,  left  the  house,  and  early  the 
next  morning  set  sail  for  home. 

When  Ortegna  discovered  that  his  wife's  jewels 
and  valuables  of  all  kinds  were  gone,  he  fell  into  a 
great  rage,  and  sent  a  messenger  off,  post-haste,  with 
an  insulting  letter  to  the  Seuora  Moreno,  demanding 


42  RAMON  A. 

their  return.  For  answer,  he  got  a  copy  of  his  wife's 
memoranda  of  instructions  to  her  sister,  giving  all  the 
said  valuables  to  her  in  trust  for  Rainoiia ;  also  a  let 
ter  from  Father  Salvierderra,  upon  reading  which  he 
sank  into  a  fit  of  despondency  that  lasted  a  day  or 
two,  and  gave  his  infamous  associates  considerable 
alarm,  lest  they  had  lost  their  comrade.  But  he  soon 
shook  off  the  influence,  whatever  it  was,  and  settled 
back  into  his  old  gait  on  the  same  old  high-road  to 
the  devil.  Father  Salvierderra  could  alarm  him,  bub 
not  save  him. 

And  this  was  the  mystery  of  Eamona.  No  wonder 
the  Senora  Moreno  never  told  the  story.  No  wonder, 
perhaps,  that  she  never  loved  the  child.  It  was  a 
sad  legacy,  indissolubly  linked  with  memories  which 
had  in  them  nothing  but  bitterness,  shame,  and  sor 
row  from  first  to  last. 

How  much  of  all  this  the  young  Ramona  knew  or 
suspected,  was  locked  in  her  own  breast.  Her  Indian 
blood  had  as  much  proud  reserve  in  it  as  was  ever 
infused  into  the  haughtiest  Gonzaga's  veins.  While 
she  was  yet  a  little  child,  she  had  one  day  said  to  the 
Seiiora  Moreno,  "  Senora,  why  did  my  mother  give 
me  to  the  Senora  Ortegna  ? " 

Taken  unawares,  the  Senora  replied  hastily  :  "  Your 
mother  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  It  was 
your  father." 

"  Was  my  mother  dead  ?  "  continued  the  child. 

Too  late  the  Senora  saw  her  mistake.  "  I  do  not 
know,"  she  replied ;  which  was  literally  true,  but 
had  the  spirit  of  a  lie  in  it.  "I  never  saw  your 
mother." 

"  Did  the  Senora  Ortegna  ever  see  her  ? "  persisted 
Ramona. 

"  No,  never,"  answered  the  Senora,  coldly,  the  old 
wounds  burning  at  the  innocent  child's  unconscious 
touch. 


RAMONA.  43 

Ramona  felt  the  chill,  and  was  silent  for  a  time, 
her  face  sad,  and  her  eyes  tearful.  At  last  she  said, 
"  I  wish  I  knew  if  my  mother  was  dead." 

"  Why  ? "  asked  the  Senora. 

"  Because  if  she  is  not  dead  I  would  ask  her  why 
she  did  not  want  me  to  stay  with  her." 

The  gentle  piteousness  of  this  reply  smote  the 
Senora's  conscience.  Taking  the  child  in  her  arms, 
she  said,  "  Who  has  been  talking  to  you  of  these 
things,  Ramona  ? " 

"  Juan  Can,"  she  replied. 

"  What  did  he  say  ? "  asked  the  Senora,  with  a  look 
in  her  eye  which  boded  no  good  to  Juan  Canito. 

"  It  was  not  to  me  he  said  it,  it  was  to  Luigo ;  but 
I  heard  him,"  answered  Ramona,  speaking  slowly,  as 
if  collecting  her  various  reminiscences  on  the  subject. 
"  Twice  I  heard  him.  He  said  that  my  mother  was 
no  good,  and  that  my  father  was  bad  too."  And  the 
tears  rolled  down  the  child's  cheeks. 

The  Senora's  sense  of  justice  stood  her  well  in  place 
of  tenderness,  now.  Caressing  the  little  orphan  as  she 
had  never  before  done,  she  said,  with  an  earnestness 
which  sank  deep  into  the  child's  mind,  "  Ramona 
must  not  believe  any  such  thing  as  that.  Juan  Can 
is  a  bad  man  to  say  it.  He  never  saw  either  your 
father  or  your  mother,  and  so  he  could  know  nothing 
about  them.  I  knew  your  father  very  well.  He 
was  not  a  bad  man.  He  was  my  friend,  and  the 
friend  of  the  Senora  Ortegna ;  and  that  was  the  rea 
son  he  gave  you  to  the  Senora  Ortegna,  because  she 
had  no  child  of  her  own.  And  I  think  your  mother 
had  a  good  many." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Ramona,  relieved,  for  the  moment,  at 
this  new  view  of  the  situation, — that  the  gift  had  been 
not  as  a  charity  to  her,  but  to  the  Senora  Ortegua. 
"  Did  the  Seuora  Ortegua  want  a  little  daughter  very 
much  ? " 


44  RAMONA. 

"  Yes,  very  much  indeed,"  said  the  Senora,  heartily 
and  with  fervor.  "  She  had  grieved  many  years  be 
cause  she  had  no  child." 

Silence  again  for  a  brief  space,  during  which  the 
little  lonely  heart,  grappling  with  its  vague  instinct 
of  loss  and  wrong,  made  wide  thrusts  into  the  per 
plexities  hedging  it  about,  and  presently  electrified 
the  Senora  by  saying  in  a  half-whisper,  "  Why  did  riot 
my  father  bring  me  to  you  first  ?  Did  he  know  you 
did  not  want  any  daughter  ?  " 

The  Senora  was  dumb  for  a  second ;  then  recover 
ing  herself,  she  said :  "  Your  father  was  the  Senora 
Ortegna's  friend  more  than  he  was  mine.  I  was  only 
a  child,  then." 

"  Of  course  you  did  not  need  any  daughter  when 
you  had  Felipe,"  continued  Ramona,  pursuing  her 
original  line  of  inquiry  and  reflection  without  no 
ticing  the  Senora's  reply.  "  A  son  is  more  than  a 
daughter;  but  most  people  have  both,"  eying  the 
Seiiora  keenly,  to  see  what  response  this  would 
bring. 

But  the  Senora  was  weary  and  uncomfortable  with 
the  talk.  At  the  very  mention  of  Felipe,  a  swift  flash 
of  consciousness  of  her  inability  to  love  Ramona  had 
swept  through  her  mind.  "  Ramona,"  she  said  firmly, 
"  while  you  are  a  little  girl,  you  cannot  understand 
any  of  these  things.  When  you  are  a  woman,  I  will 
tell  you  all  that  I  know  myself  about  your  father  and 
your  mother.  It  is  very  little.  Your  father  died 
when  you  were  only  two  years  old.  All  that  you 
have  to  do  is  to  be  a  good  child,  and  say  your  prayers, 
and  when  Father  Salvierderra  comes  he  will  be 
pleased  with  you.  And  he  will  not  be  pleased  if  you 
ask  troublesome  questions.  Don't  ever  speak  to  me 
aeain  about  this.  When  the  proper  time  comes  I 
will  tell  you  myself." 

This  was  when  Ramona  was  ten.     She  was  now 


RAMONA.  15 

nineteen.  She  had  never  again  asked  the  Sefiora  a 
question  bearing  on  the  forbidden  subject.  She  had 
been  a  good  child  and  said  her  prayers,  and  Father 
Salvierderra  had  been  always  pleased  with  her,  grow 
ing  more  and  more  deeply  attached  to  her  year  by 
year.  But  the  proper  time  had  not  yet  come  for  the 
Sefiora  to  tell  her  anything  more  about  her  father  and 
mother.  There  were  few  mornings  on  which  the  girl 
did  not  think,  "  Perhaps  it  may  be  to-day  that  she 
will  tell  me."  But  she  would  not  ask.  Every  word 
of  that  conversation  was  as  vivid  in  her  mind  as  it 
had  been  the  day  it  occurred ;  and  it  would  hardly  be 
an  exaggeration  to  say  that  during  every  day  of  the 
whole  nine  years  had  deepened  in  her  heart  the 
conviction  which  had  prompted  the  child's  ques 
tion,  "Did  he  know  that  you  did  not  want  any 
daughter  ? " 

A  nature  less  gentle  than  Eamona's  would  have 
been  embittered,  or  at  least  hardened,  by  this  con 
sciousness.  But  Ramoua's  was  not.  She  never  put 
it  in  words  to  herself.  She  accepted  it,  as  those  born 
deformed  seem  sometimes  to  accept  the  pain  and 
isolation  caused  by  their  deformity,  with  an  unques 
tioning  acceptance,  which  is  as  far  above  resignation, 
as  resignation  is  above  rebellious  repining. 

No  one  would  have  known,  from  Harnona's  face, 
manner,  or  habitual  conduct,  that  she  had  ever  experi 
enced  a  sorrow  or  had  a  care.  Her  face  was  sunny, 
she  had  a  joyous  voice,  and  never  was  seen  to  pass 
a  human  being  without  a  cheerful  greeting,  to  high 
est  and  lowest  the  same.  Her  industry  was  tireless. 
iShe  had  had  two  years  at  school,  in  the  Convent  of 
the  Sacred  Heart  at  Los  Angeles,  where  the  Sefiora 
had  placed  her  at  much  personal  sacrifice,  during  one 
of  the  hardest  times  the  Moreno  estate  had  ever  seen. 
Here  she  had  won  the  affection  of  all  the  Sisters, 
who  spoke  of  her  habitually  as  the  "  blessed  child." 


46  RAMONA. 

They  had  taught  her  all  the  dainty  arts  of  lace-weaving, 
embroidery,  and  simple  fashions  of  painting  and  draw 
ing,  which  they  knew ;  not  overmuch  learning  out  of 
books,  but  enough  to  make  her  a  passionate  lover  of 
verse  and  romance.  For  serious  study  or  for  deep 
thought  she  had  no  vocation.  She  was  a  simple,  joy 
ous,  gentle,  clinging,  faithful  nature,  like  a  clear  brook 
rippling  along  in  the  sun,  —  a  nature  as  unlike  as  pos 
sible  to  the  Seiiora's,  with  its  mysterious  depths  and 
stormy,  hidden  currents. 

Of  these  Ilamona  was  dimly  conscious,  and  at  times 
had  a  tender,  sorrowful  pity  for  the  Senora,  which 
she  dared  not  show,  and  could  only  express  by  re 
newed  industry,  and  tireless  endeavor  to  fulfil  every 
duty  possible  in  the  house.  This  gentle  faithfulness 
was  not  wholly  lost  on  Senora  Moreno,  though,  its 
source  she  never  suspected ;  and  it  won  no  new  recog 
nition  from  her  for  llamona,  no  increase  of  love. 

Bat  there  was  one  on  whom  not  an  act,  not  a  look, 
not  a  smile  of  all  this  graciousness  was  thrown  away. 
That  one  was  Felipe.  Daily  more  and  more  he  won 
dered  at  his  mother's  lack  of  affection  of  Eamona. 
Nobody  knew  so  well  as  he  how  far  short  she  stopped 
of  loving  her.  Felipe  knew  what  it  meant,  how  it 
felt,  to  be  loved  by  the  Senora  Moreno.  But  Felipe 
had  learned  while  he  was  a  boy  that  one  sure  way  to 
displease  his  mother  was  to  appear  to  be  aware  that 
she  did  not  treat  Eamona  as  she  treated  him.  And 
long  before  he  had  become  a  man  he  had  acquired 
the  habit  of  keeping  to  himself  most  of  the  things  he 
thought  and  felt  about  his  little  playmate  sister,  — 
a  dangerous  habit,  out  of  which  were  slowly  ripen 
ing  bitter  fruits  for  the  Seiiora's  gathering  in  later 
years. 


IV. 


IT  was  longer  even  than  the  Seiiora  had  thought 
it  would  be,  before  Father  Salvierderra  arrived. 
The  old  man  had  grown  feeble  during  the  year  that 
she  had  not  seen  him,  and  it  was  a  very  short  day's 
journey  that  he  could  make  now  without  too  great 
fatigue.  It  was  not  only  his  body  that  had  failed. 
He  had  lost  heart ;  and  the  miles  which  would  have 
been  nothing  to  him,  had  he  walked  in  the  compan 
ionship  of  hopeful  and  happy  thoughts,  stretched  out 
wearily  as  he  brooded  over  sad  memories  and  still 
sadder  anticipations,  —  the  downfall  of  the  Missions, 
the  loss  of  their  vast  estates,  and  the  growing  power 
of  the  ungodly  in  the  land.  The  final  decision  of 
the  United  States  Government  in  regard  to  the  Mis 
sion-lands  had  been  a  terrible  blow  to  him.  He  had 
devoutly  believed  that  ultimate  restoration  of  these 
great  estates  to  the  Church  was  inevitable.  In  the 
long  vigils  which  he  always  kept  when  at  home  at 
the  Franciscan  Monastery  in  Santa  Barbara,  kneeling 
on  the  stone  pavement  in  the  church,  and  praying 
ceaselessly  from  midnight  till  dawn,  he  had  often  had 
visions  vouchsafed  him  of  a  new  dispensation,  in 
which  the  Mission  establishments  should  be  rein 
stated  in  all  their  old  splendor  and  prosperity,  and 
their  Indian  converts  again  numbered  by  tens  of 
thousands. 

Long  after  every  one  knew  that  this  was  impossi 
ble,  he  would  narrate  these  visions  with  the  faith  of 
an  old  Bible  seer,  and  declare  that  they  must  come 


48  RAMONA. 

true,  and  that  it  was  a  sin  to  despond.  But  as  year 
after  year  he  journeyed  up  and  down  the  country, 
seeing,  at  Mission  after  Mission,  the  buildings  crum 
bling  into  ruin,  the  lands  all  taken,  sold,  resold,  and 
settled  by  greedy  speculators  ;  the  Indian  converts  dis 
appearing,  driven  back  to  their  original  wildernesses, 
the  last  traces  of  the  noble  work  of  his  order  being  rap 
idly  swept  away,  his  courage  faltered,  his  faith  died 
out.  Changes  in  the  manners  and  customs  of  his  or 
der  itself,  also,  were  giving  him  deep  pain.  He  was  a 
Franciscan  of  the  same  type  as  Francis  of  Assisi.  To 
wear  a  shoe  in  place  of  a  sandal,  to  take  money  in  a 
purse  for  a  journey,  above  all  to  lay  aside  the  gray 
gown  and  cowl  for  any  sort  of  secular  garment, 
seemed  to  him  wicked.  To  own  comfortable  clothes 
while  there  were  others  suffering  for  want  of  them  — 
and  there  were  always  such  —  seemed  to  him  a  sin  for 
which  one  might  not  undeservedly  be  smitten  with 
sudden  and  terrible  punishment.  In  vain  the  Broth 
ers  again  and  again  supplied  him  with  a  warm  cloak ; 
he  gave  it  away  to  the  first  beggar  lie  met :  and  as 
for  food,  the  refectory  would  have  been  left  bare,  and 
the  whole  brotherhood  starving,  if  the  supplies  had 
not  been  carefully  hidden  and  locked,  so  that  Father 
Salvierderra  could  not  give  them  all  away.  He  was 
fast  becoming  that  most  tragic  yet  often  sublime  sight, 
a  man  who  has  survived,  riot  only  his  own  time,  but 
the  ideas  and  ideals  of  it.  Earth  holds  no  sharper 
loneliness :  the  bitterness  of  exile,  the  anguish  of 
friendlessness  at  their  utmost,  are  in  it ;  and  yet  it  is 
so  much  greater  than  they,  that  even  they  seem  small 
part  of  it. 

It  was  with  thoughts  such  as  these  that  Father 
Salvierderra  drew  near  the  home  of  the  Senora 
Moreno  late  in  the  afternoon  of  one  of  those  mid 
summer  days  of  which  Southern  California  has  so 
many  in  spring.  The  almonds  had  bloomed  and  the 


RAMONA.  49 

blossoms  fallen  ;  the  apricots  also,  and  the  peaches 
and  pears  ;  on  all  the  orchards  of  these  fruits  had 
come  a  filmy  tint  of  green,  so  light  it  was  hardly 
more  than  a  shadow  on  the  gray.  The  willows  were 
vivid  light  green,  and  the  orange  groves  dark  and 
glossy  like  laurel.  The  billowy  hills  on  either  side 
the  valley  were  covered  with  verdure  and  bloom,  — 
myriads  of  low  blossoming  plants,  so  close  to  the 
earth  that  their  tints  lapped  and  overlapped  on  each 
other,  and  on  the  green  of  the  grass,  as  feathers  in 
fine  plumage  overlap  each  other  and  blend  into  a 
changeful  color. 

The  countless  curves,  hollows,  and  crests  of  the 
coast-hills  in  Southern  California  heighten  these  cha 
meleon  effects  of  the  spring  verdure ;  they  are  like 
nothing  in  nature  except  the  glitter  of  a  brilliant 
lizard  in  the  sun  or  the  iridescent  sheen  of  a  pea 
cock's  neck. 

Father  Salvierderra  paused  many  times  to  gaze  at 
the  beautiful  picture.  Flowers  were  always  dear  to 
the  Franciscans.  Saint  Francis  himself  permitted  all 
decorations  which  could  be  made  of  flowers.  He 
classed  them  with  his  brothers  and  sisters,  the  sun, 
moon,  and  stars,  —  all  members  of  the  sacred  choir 
praising  God. 

It  was  melancholy  to  see  how,  after  each  one  of  these 
pauses,  each  fresh  drinking  in  of  the  beauty  of  the 
landscape  and  the  balmy  air,  the  old  man  resumed  his 
slow  pace,  with  a  long  sigh  and  his  eyes  cast  down. 
The  fairer  this  beautiful  land,  the  sadder  to  know  it  lost 
to  the  Church,  —  alien  hands  reaping  its  fulness,  estab 
lishing  new  customs,  new  laws.  All  the  way  down 
the  coast  from  Santa  Barbara  he  had  seen,  at  every 
stopping-place,  new  tokens  of  the  settling  up  of  the 
country, —  farms  opening,  towns  growing ;  the  Ameri 
cans  pouring  in,  at  all  points,  to  reap  the  advantages 
of  their  new  possessions.  It  was  this  which  hud 


50  RAMONA. 

made  bis  journey  heavy-hearted,  and  made  him  feel, 
in  approaching  the  Seiiora  Moreno's,  as  if  he  were 
coming  to  one  of  the  last  sure  strongholds  of  the 
Catholic  faith  left  in  the  country. 

When  he  was  within  two  miles  of  the  house,  he 
struck  off  from  the  highway  into  a  narrow  path  that 
he  recollected  led  by  a  short-cut  through  the  hills, 
and  saved  nearly  a  third  of  the  distance.  It  was 
more  than  a  year  since  he  had  trod  this  path,  and  as 
he  found  it  growing  fainter  and  fainter,  and  more  and 
more  overgrown  with  the  wild  mustard,  he  said  to 
himself,  "  I  think  no  one  can  have  passed  through 
here  this  year." 

As  be  proceeded  he  found  the  mustard  thicker  and 
thicker.  The  wild  mustard  in  Southern  California 
is  like  that  spoken  of  in  the  New  Testament,  in  the 
branches  of  which  the  birds  of  the  air  may  rest. 
Coming  up  out  of  the  earth,  so  slender  a  stem  that 
dozens  can  find  starting-point  in  an  inch,  it  darts  up, 
a  slender  straight  shoot,  five,  ten,  twenty  feet,  with 
hundreds  of  fine  feathery  branches  locking  and  in 
terlocking  with  all  the  other  hundreds  around  it,  till 
it  is  an  inextricable  network  like  lace.  Then  it  bursts 
into  yellow  bloom  still  finer,  more  feathery  and  lace- 
like.  The  stems  are  so  infinitesimally  small,  and  of 
so  dark  a  green,  that  at  a  short  distance  they  do 
not  show,  and  the  cloud  of  blossom  seems  float 
ing  in  the  air ;  at  times  it  looks  like  golden  dust. 
With  a  clear  blue  sky  behind  it,  as  it  is  often  seen, 
it  looks  like  a  golden  snow-storm.  The  plant  is  a 
tyrant  and  a  nuisance,  —  the  terror  of  the  farmer;  it 
takes  riotous  possession  of  a  whole  field  in  a  season; 
once  in,  never  out ;  for  one  plant  this  year,  a  million 
the  next ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  wish  that  the  land 
were  freed  from  it.  Its  gold  is  as  distinct  a  value  to 
the  eye  as  the  nugget  gold  is  in  the  pocket. 

Father  Salvierderra  soon  found  himself  in  a  verita- 


RAMONA.  51 

Me  thicket  of  these  delicate  branches,  high  above  his 
head,  and  so  interlaced  that  he  could  make  headway 
only  by  slowly  and  patiently  disentangling  them,  as 
one  would  disentangle  a  skein  of  silk.  It  was  a  fan 
tastic  sort  of  dilemma,  and  not  unpleasing.  Except 
that  the  Father  was  in  haste  to  reach  his  journey's 
end,  he  would  have  enjoyed  threading  his  \vay 
through  the  golden  meshes.  Suddenly  he  heard  faint 
notes  of  singing.  He  paused,  —  listened.  It  was 
the  voice  of  a  woman.  It  was  slowly  drawing  nearer, 
apparently  from  the  direction  in  which  he  was  going. 
At  intervals  it  ceased  abruptly,  then  began  again ; 
as  if  by  a  sudden  but  brief  interruption,  like  that 
made  by  question  and  answer.  Then,  peering  ahead 
through  the  mustard  blossoms,  he  saw  them  waving 
and  bending,  and  heard  sounds  as  if  they  were  being 
broken.  Evidently  some  one  entering  on  the  pat]: 
from  the  opposite  end  had  been  caught  in  the  fra 
grant  thicket  as  he  was.  The  notes  grew  clearer, 
though  still  low  and  sweet  as  the  twilight  notes  of  the 
thrush ;  the  mustard  branches  waved  more  and  more 
violently  ;  light  steps  were  now  to  be  heard.  Father 
Salvierderra  stood  still  as  one  in  a  dream,  his  eyes 
straining  forward  into  the  golden  mist  of  blossoms. 
In  a  moment  more  came,  distinct  and  clear  to  his 
ear,  the  beautiful  words  of  the  second  stanza  of  Saint 
Francis's  inimitable  lyric,  "The  Canticle  of  the  Sun:" 

"  Praise  be  to  thee,  O  Lord ,  for  all  thy  creatures,  and  espe 
cially  for  our  brother  the  Sun,  —  who  illuminates  the  day,  and 
by  his  beauty  and  splendor  shadows  forth  unto  us  thine." 

1  "  Eamona  !  "  exclaimed  the  Father,  his  thin  cheeks 
flushing  with  pleasure.  "  The  blessed  child  ! "  And 
as  he  spoke,  her  face  came  into  sight,  set  in  a  swaying 
frame  of  the  blossoms,  as  she  parted  them  lightly  to 
right  and  left  with  her  hands,  and  half  crept,  half  danced 
through  the  loop-hole  openings  thus  made.  Father 


52  RAM  ON  A. 

Salvierderra  was  past  eighty,  but  his  blood  was  not 
too  old  to  move  quicker  at  the  sight  of  this  picture. 
A  man  must  be  dead  not  to  thrill  at  it.  Ramona's 
beauty  was  of  the  sort  to  be  best  enhanced  by  the 
waving  gold  which  now  framed  her  face.  She  hadi 
just  enough  of  olive  tint  in  her  complexion  to  under 
lie  and  enrich  her  skin  without  making  it  swarthy. 
Her  hair  was  like  her  Indian  mother's,  heavy  and 
black,  but  her  eyes  were  like  her  father's,  steel-blue. 
Only  those  who  came  very  near  to  Rarnona  knew, 
however,  that  her  eyes  were  blue,  for  the  heavy  black 
eyebrows  and  long  black  lashes  so  shaded  and  shad 
owed  them  that  they  looked  black  as  night.  At  the 
same  instant  that  Father  Salvierderra  first  caught 
sight  of  her  face,  Ramona  also  saw  him,  and  cry 
ing  out  joyfully,  "Ah,  Father,  I  knew  you  would 
come  by  this  path,  and  something  told  me  you  were 
near ! "  she  sprang  forward,  and  sank  on  her  knees 
before  him,  bowing  her  head  for  his  blessing.  In 
silence  he  laid  his  hands  on  her  brow.  It  would  not 
have  been  easy  for  him  to  speak  to  her  at  that  first 
moment.  She  had  looked  to  the  devout  old  rnonk, 
as  she  sprang  through  the  cloud  of  golden  flowers,  the 
sun  falling  on  her  bared  head,  her  cheeks  flushed,  her 
eyes  shining,  more  like  an  apparition  of  an  angel  or 
saint,  than  like  the  flesh-and-blood  maiden  whom  he 
had  carried  in  his  arms  when  she  was  a  babe. 

"  We  have  been  waiting,  waiting,  oh,  so  long  for 
you,  Father ! "  she  said,  rising.  "  We  began  to  fear  that 
you  might  be  ill.  The  shearers  have  been  sent  for, 
and  will  be  here  to-night,  and  that  was  the  reason  I 
felt  so  sure  you  would  come.  I  knew  the  Virgin 
would  bring  you  in  time  for  mass  in  the  chapel  on  the 
first  morning." 

The  monk  smiled  half  sadly.     "  Would  there  were 
more    with  such  faith  as  yours,  daughter,"  he  said. 
Are  all  well  on  the  place  ? " 


RAMON  A.  53 

"  Yes,  Father,  all  well,"  she  answered.  "  Felipe 
has  been  ill  with  a  fever ;  but  he  is  out  now,  these 
ten  days,  and  fretting  for  —  for  your  coming." 

llarnona  had  like  to  have  said  the  literal  truth,  — 
"  fretting  for  the  sheep-shearing,"  but  recollected  her 
self  in  time. 

"  And  the  Senora  ? "  said  the  Father. 

"  She  is  well,"  answered  Ramona,  gently,  but  with 
a  slight  change  of  tone,  —  so  slight  as  to  be  almost 
imperceptible  ;  but  an  acute  observer  would  have 
always  detected  it  in  the  girl's  tone  whenever  she 
spoke  of  the  Senora  Moreno.  "  And  you,  —  are  you 
well  yourself,  Father  ?  "  she  asked  affectionately,  not 
ing  with  her  quick,  loving  eye  how  feebly  the  old 
man  walked,  and  that  he  carried  what  she  had  never 
before  seen  in  his  hand,  —  a  stout  staff  to  steady  his 
steps.  "  You  must  be  very  tired  with  the  long  jour 
ney  on  foot." 

"  Ay,  Eamona,  I  am  tired,"  he  replied.  "  Old  age 
is  conquering  me.  It  will  not  be  many  times  more 
that  I  shall  see  this  place." 

"  Oh,  do  not  say  that,  Father,"  cried  Ramona ;  "  you 
can  ride,  when  it  tires  you  too  much  to  walk.  The 
Sefiora  said,  only  the  other  day,  that  she  wished  you 
would  let  her  give  you  a  horse  ;  that  it  was  not  right 
for  you  to  take  these  long  journeys  on  foot.  You 
know  we  have  hundreds  of  horses.  It  is  nothing,  one 
horse,"  she  added,  seeing  the  Father  slowly  shake  his 
head. 

"  No  ; "  he  said,  "  it  is  not  that.  I  could  not  refuse 
anything  at  the  hands  of  the  Senora.  But  it  was  the 
rule  of  our  order  to  go  on  foot.  We  must  deny  the 
flesh.  Look  at  our  beloved  master  in  this  land, 
Father  Junipero,  when  he  was  past  eighty,  walking 
from  San  Diego  to  Monterey,  and  all  the  while  a  run 
ning  ulcer  in  one  of  his  legs,  for  which  most  men 
would  have  taken  to  a  bed,  to  be  healed.  It  is  a  sin- 


54  RAMON  A. 

ful  fashion  that  is  coming  in,  for  monks  to  take  their 
ease  doing  God's  work.  I  can  no  longer  walk  swiftly, 
but  I  must  walk  all  the  more  diligently." 

While  they  were  talking,  they  had  been  slowly 
moving  forward,  Eamona  slightly  in  advance,  grace 
fully  bending  the  mustard  branches,  and  holding 
them  down  till  the  Father  had  followed  in  her  steps. 
As  they  came  out  from  the  thicket,  she  exclaimed, 
laughing,  "There  is  Felipe,  in  the  willows.  I  told 
him  I  was  coming  to  meet  you,  and  he  laughed  at  me. 
Now  he  will  see  I  was  right." 

Astonished  enough,  Felipe,  hearing  voices,  looked 
up,  and  saw  Itamona  and  the  Father  approaching. 
Throwing  down  the  knife  with  which  he  had  been 
cutting  the  willows,  he  hastened  to  meet  them,  and 
dropped  on  his  knees,  as  liamona  had  done,  for  the 
monk's  blessing.  As  he  knelt  there,  the  wind  blowing 
his  hair  loosely  off  his  brow,  his  large  brown  eyes  lifted 
in  gentle  reverence  to  the  Father's  face,  and  his  face  full 
of  affectionate  welcome,  Ramona  thought  to  herself,  as 
she  had  thought  hundreds  of  times  since  she  became  a 
woman,  "  How  beautiful  Felipe  is  !  No  wonder  the 
Seiiora  loves  him  so  much  !  If  I  had  been  beautiful 
like  that  she  would  have  liked  me  better."  Never 
was  a  little  child  more  unconscious  of  her  own  beauty 
than  Eamona  still  was.  All  the  admiration  which 
was  expressed  to  her  in  word  and  look  she  took  for 
simple  kindness  and  good-will.  Her  face,  as  she 
herself  saw  it  in  her  glass,  did  not  please  her.  She 
compared  her  straight,  massive  black  eyebrows  with 
'Felipe's,  arched  and  delicately  pencilled,  and  found  her 
own  ugly.  The  expression  of  gentle  repose  which  her 
countenance  wore,  seemed  to  her  an  expression  of  stu 
pidity.  "  Felipe  looks  so  bright ! "  she  thought,  as  she 
noted  his  mobile  changing  face,  never  for  two  succes 
sive  seconds  the  same.  "  There  is  nobody  like  Felipe." 
And  when  his  brown  eyes  were  fixed  on  her,  as  they 


RAMONA.  55 

so  often  were,  in  a  long  lingering  gaze,  she  looked  stead 
ily  back  into  their  velvet  depths  with  an  abstracted 
sort  of  intensity  which  profoundly  puzzled  Felipe.  It 
was  this  look,  more  than  any  other  one  thing,  which 
had  for  two  years  held  Felipe's  tongue  in  leash,  as  it 
were,  and  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  say  to  Ea- 
mona  any  of  the  loving  things  of  which  his  heart  had 
been  full  ever  since  he  could  remember.  The  boy 
had  spoken  them  unhesitatingly,  unconsciously  ;  but 
the  man  found  himself  suddenly  afraid.  "  What  is  it 
she  thinks  when  she  looks  into  my  eyes  so  ? "  he  won 
dered.  If  he  had  known  that  the  thing  she  was  usu 
ally  thinking  was  simply,  "  How  much  handsomer 
brown  eyes  are  than  blue  !  I  wish  my  eyes  were  the 
color  of  Felipe's  !  "  he  would  have  perceived,  perhaps, 
what  would  have  saved  him  sorrow,  if  he  had  known 
it,  that  a  girl  who  looked  at  a  man  thus,  would  be 
hard  to  win  to  look  at  him  as  a  lover.  But  being  a 
lover,  he  could  not  see  this.  He  saw  only  enough  to 
perplex  and  deter  him. 

As  they  drew  near  the  house,  Eamona  saw  Marga 
rita  standing  at  the  gate  of  the  garden.  She  was 
holding  something  white  in  her  hands,  looking  down 
at  it,  and  crying  piteously.  As  she  perceived  Eamona, 
she  made  an  eager  leap  forward,  and  then  shrank 
back  again,  making  dumb  signals  of  distress  to  her. 
Her  whole  attitude  was  one  of  misery  and  entreaty. 
Margarita  was,  of  all  the  maids,  most  beloved  by 
Eamona.  Though  they  were  nearly  of  the  same  age, 
it  had  been  Margarita  who  first  had  charge  of  Eamona ; 
the  nurse  and  her  charge  had  played  together,  grown 
up  together,  become  women  together,  and  were  now, 
although  Margarita  never  presumed  on  the  relation, 
or  forgot  to  address  Eamona  as  Sefiorita,  more  like 
friends  than  like  mistress  and  maid. 

"Pardon  me,  Father,"  said  Eamona.  "I  see  that 
Margarita  there  is  in  trouble.  I  will  leave  Felipe  to 


56  RAM  ON  A. 

go  with  you  to  the  house.  I  will  he  with  you  again 
in  a  few  moments."  And  kissing  his  hand,  she  flew 
rather  than  ran  across  the  field  to  the  foot  of  the  gar 
den. 

Before  she  reached  the  spot,  Margarita  had  dropped 
on  the  ground  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
A  mass  of  crumpled  and  stained  linen  lay  at  her 
feet. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  has  happened,  Margarita  mia  ?" 
cried  Kamona,  in  the  affectionate  Spanish  phrase.  For 
answer,  Margarita  removed  one  wet  hand  from  her 
eyes,  and  pointed  with  a  gesture  of  despair  to  the 
crumpled  linen.  Sobs  choked  her  voice,  and  she 
buried  her  face  again  in  her  hands. 

Ramona  stooped,  and  lifted  one  corner  of  the  linen. 
An  involuntary  cry  of  dismay  broke  from  her,  at 
which  Margarita's  sobs  redoubled,  and  she  gasped  out, 
"Yes,  Senorita,  it  is  totally  ruined!  It  can  never 
be  mended,  and  it  will  be  needed  for  the  mass  to 
morrow  morning.  When  I  saw  the  Father  coming 
by  your  side,  I  prayed  to  the  Virgin  to  let  me  die. 
The  Sefiora  will  never  forgive  me." 

It  was  indeed  a  sorry  sight.  The  white  linen 
altar-cloth,  the  cloth  which  the  Senora  Moreno  had 
with  her  own  hands  made  into  one  solid  front  of 
beautiful  lace  of  the  Mexican  fashion,  by  drawing 
out  part  of  the  threads  and  sewing  the  remainder 
into  intricate  patterns,  the  cloth  which  had  always 
been  on  the  altar,  when  mass  was  said,  since  Mar 
garita's  and  Ramona's  earliest  recollections,  —  there 
it  lay,  torn,  stained,  as  if  it  had  been  dragged  through 
muddy  brambles.  In  silence,  aghast,  Ramona  opened 
it  out  and  held  it  up.  "  How  did  it  happen,  Mar 
garita  ? "  she  whispered,  glancing  in  terror  up  towards 
the  house. 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  worst  of  it,  Senorita  ! "  sobbed  the 
girl.  "  That  is  the  worst  of  it !  If  it  were  not  for. 


RAMON  A.  57 

that,  I  would  not  be  so  afraid.  If  it  had  happened 
any  other  way,  the  Sefiora  might  have  forgiven  me  ; 
but  she  never  will.  I  would  rather  die  than  tell 
her ; "  and  she  shook  from  head  to  foot. 

"Stop  crying,  Margarita!"  said  Kamona,  firmly, 
"  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  It  is  n't  so  bad  as  it  looks  ; 
I  think  I  can  mend  it." 

"Oh,  the  saints  bless  you  !"  cried  Margarita,  look 
ing  up  for  the  first  time.  "  Do  you  really  think  you 
can  mend  it,  Sefiorita  ?  If  you  will  mend  that  lace, 
I  '11  go  on  my  knees  for  you  all  the  rest  of  my  life  !  " 

Kamona  laughed  in  spite  of  herself.  "You'll  serve 
me  better  by  keeping  on  your  feet,"  she  said  merrily  ; 
at  which  Margarita  laughed  too,  through  her  tears. 
They  were  both  young. 

"  Oh,  but  Sefiorita,"  Margarita  began  again  in  a 
tone  of  anguish,  her  tears  flowing  afresh,  "  there  is 
not  time !  It  must  be  washed  and  ironed  to-night, 
for  the  mass  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  have  to  help 
at  the  supper.  Anita  and  Eosa  are  both  ill  in  bed,  you 
know,  and  Maria  has  gone  away  for  a  week.  The 
Sefiora  said  if  the  Father  came  to-night  I  must  help 
mother,  and  must  wait  on  table.  It  cannot  be 
done.  I  was  just  going  to  iron  it  now,  and  I  found 
it  —  so  —  It  was  in  the  artichoke-patch,  and  Capi- 
tan,  the  beast,  had  been  tossing  it  among  the  sharp 
pricks  of  the  old  last  year's  seeds." 

"  In  the  artichoke-patch ! "  ejaculated  Ramona. 
"  How  under  heavens  did  it  get  there  ? " 

"Oh,  that  was  what  I  meant,  Sefiorita,  when 
I  said  she  never  would  forgive  me.  She  has  forbid 
den  me  many  times  to  hang  anything  to  dry  on  the 
fence  there ;  and  if  I  had  only  washed  it  when  she 
first  told  me,  two  days  ago,  all  would  have  been  well. 
But  I  forgot  it  till  this  afternoon,  and  there  was 
no  sun  in  the  court  to  dry  it,  and  you  know  how 
the  sun  lies  on  the  artichoke-patch,  and  I  put  a 


58  RAM  ON  A. 

strong  cloth  over  the  fence,  so  that  the  wood  should 
not  pierce  the  lace,  and  I  did  not  leave  it  more 
than  half  an  hour,  just  while  I  said  a  few  words 
'to  Luisro,  and  there  was  no  wind ;  and  I  believe  the 

O      >  ' 

saints  must  have  fetched  it  down  to  the  ground  to 
punish  me  for  my  disobedience." 

Ramona  had  been  all  this  time  carefully  smooth- 
ing  out  the  torn  places.  "  It  is  not  so  bad  as  it 
looks,"  she  said  ;  "  if  it  were  not  for  the  hurry,  there 
':  would  be  no  trouble  in  mending  it.  But  I  will  do  it 
the  best  I  can,  so  that  it  will  not  show,  for  to-morrow, 
and  then,  after  the  Father  is  gone,  I  can  repair  it  at 
leisure,  and  make  it  just  as  good  as  new.  I  think 
I  can  mend  it  and  wash  it  before  dark,"  and  she 
glanced  at  the  sun.  "  Oh,  yes,  there  are  good  three 
hours;  of  daylight  yet.  I  can  do  it.  You  put  irons 
on  the  fire,  to  have  them  hot,  to  iron  it  as  soon  as 
it  is  partly  dried.  You  will  see  it  will  not  show 
that  anything  has  happened  to  it." 

"Will  the  Senora  know?"  asked  poor  Margarita, 
calmed  and  reassured,  but  still  in  mortal  terror. 

Ramona  turned  her  steady  glance  full  on  Marga 
rita's  face.  "  You  would  not  be  any  happier  if  she 
were  deceived,  do  you  think  ? "  she  said  gravely. 

"  0  Senorita,  after  it  is  mended  ?  If  it  really  does 
not  show  ? "  pleaded  the  girl. 

"  I  will  tell  her  myself,  and  not  till  after  it  is 
mended,"  said  Ramona ;  but  she  did  not  smile. 

"  Ah,  Senorita,"  said  Margarita,  deprecatingly,  "  you 
do  not  know  what  it  is  to  have  the  Senora  displeased 
with  one." 

"  Nothing  can  be  so  bad  as  to  be  displeased  with 
one's  self,"  retorted  Ramona,  as  she  walked  swiftly 
away  to  her  room  with  the  linen  rolled  up  under 
her  arm.  Luckily  for  Margarita's  cause,  she  met  no 
one  on  the  way.  The  Senora  had  welcomed  Father 
Salvierderra  at  the  foot  of  the  veranda  steps,  and 


RAMONA.  59 

had  immediately  closeted  herself  with  him.  She  had 
much  to  say  to  him,  —  much  about  which  she  wished 
his  help  aud  counsel,  and  much  which  she  wished  to 
learn  from  him  as  to  affairs  in  the  Church  and  in  the 
country  generally. 

Felipe  had  gone  off  at  once  to  find  Juan  Canito, 
to  see  if  everything  were  ready  for  the  sheep-shearing 
to  begin  on  the  next  day,  if  the  shearers  arrived  in 
time  ;  and  there  was  very  good  chance  of  their  com 
ing  in  by  sundown  this  day,  Felipe  thought,  for  he 
had  privately  instructed  his  messenger  to  make  all 
possible  haste,  and  to  impress  on  the  Indians  the 
urgent  need  of  their  losing  no  time  on  the  road. 

It  had  been  a  great  concession  on  the  Senora's  part 
to  allow  the  messenger  to  be  sent  off  before  she  had 
positive  intelligence  as  to  the  Father's  movements. 
13ut  as  day  after  day  passed  and  no  news  came,  even 
she  perceived  that  it  would  not  do  to  put  off  the  sheep- 
shearing  much  longer,  or,  as  Juan  Canito  said,  "  for 
ever."  The  Father  might  have  fallen  ill ;  and  if  that 
were  so,  it  might  very  easily  be  weeks  before  they 
heard  of  it,  so  scanty  were  the  means  of  communica 
tion  between  the  remote  places  on  his  route  of  visi 
tation.  The  messenger  had  therefore  been  sent  to 
summon  the  Temecula  shearers,  and  the  Senora  had 
resigned  herself  to  the  inevitable ;  piously  praying, 
however,  morning  and  night,  and  at  odd  moments 
in  the  day,  that  the  Father  might  arrive  before  the 
Indians  did.  When  she  saw  him  coming  up  the  garden- 
walk,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  Felipe,  on  the  after 
noon  of  the  very  day  which  was  the  earliest  possible 
day  for  the  Indians  to  arrive,  it  was  not  strange  that 
she  felt,  mingled  with  the  joy  of  her  greeting  to  her 
long-loved  friend  and  confessor,  a  triumphant  exul 
tation  that  the  saints  had  heard  her  prayers. 

In  the  kitchen  all  was  bustle  and  stir.  The  com 
ing  of  any  guest  into  the  house  was  a  signal  for 


GO  RAMONA. 

unwonted  activities  there, — even  the  coming  of  Father 
Salvierderra,  .who  never  knew  whether  the  soup  had 
forcemeat  balls  in  it  or  not,  old  Marda  said ;  and 
that  was  to  her  the  last  extreme  of  indifference  to 
good  things  of  the  flesh.  "  But  if  he  will  not  eat,  lie 
can  see,"  she  said  ;  and  her  pride  for  herself  and  for  the 
house  was  enlisted  in  setting  forth  as  goodly  an  array 
of  viands  as  her  larder  afforded.  She  grew  suddenly 
fastidious  over  the  size  and  color  of  the  cabbages  to  go 
into  the  beef-pot,  and  threw  away  one  whole  saucepan 
full  of  rice,  because  Margarita  had  put  only  one  onion 
in  instead  of  two. 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  again  and  again  that  for  the 
Father  it  is  always  two  onions  ? "  she  exclaimed.  "  It 
is  the  dish  he  most  favors  of  all ;  and  it  is  a  pity 
too,  old  as  he  is.  It  makes  him  no  blood.  It  is  good 
beef  he  should  take  now." 

The  dining-room  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
court-yard  from  the  kitchen,  and  there  was  a  perpet 
ual  procession  of  small  messengers  going  back  and 
forth  between  the  rooms.  It  was  the  highest  ambition 
of  each  child  to  be  allowed  to  fetch  and  carry  dishes 
in  the  preparation  of  the  meals  at  all  times ;  but 
when  by  so  doing  they  could  perchance  get  a  glimpse 
through  the  dining-room  door,  open  on  the  veranda, 
of  strangers  and  guests,  their  restless  rivalry  became 
unmanageable.  Poor  Margarita,  between  her  own 
private  anxieties  and  her  multiplied  duties  of  helping 
in  the  kitchen,  and  setting  the  table,  restraining  and 
overseeing  her  army  of  infant  volunteers,  was  nearly 
distraught ;  not  so  distraught,  however,  but  that  she 
remembered  and  found  time  to  seize  a  lighted  candle 
in  the  kitchen,  run  and  set  it  before  the  statue  of 
Saint  Francis  of  Paula  in  her  bedroom,  hurriedly 
whispering  a  prayer  that  the  lace  might  be  made 
whole  like  new.  Several  times  before  the  afternoon 
had  waned  she  snatched  a  moment  to  fling  herself 


RAMON  A.  Gl 

down  at  the  statue's  feet  and  pray  her  foolish  little 
prayer  over  again.  We  think  we  are  quite  sure  that 
it  is  a  foolish  little  prayer,  when  people  pray  to  have 
torn  lace  made  whole.  But  it  would  be  hard  to  show 
the  odds  between  asking  that,  and  asking  that  it  may 
rain,  or  that  the  sick  may  get  well.  As  the  grand  old 
Russian  says,  what  men  usually  ask  for,  when  they 
pray  to  God,  is,  that  two  and  two  may  not  make  four. 
All  the  same  he  is  to  be  pitied  who  prays  not.  It  was 
only  the  thought  of  that  candle  at  Saint  Francis's  feet, 
which  enabled  Margarita  to  struggle  through  this 
anxious  and  unhappy  afternoon  and  evening. 

At  last  supper  was  ready,  —  a  great  dish  of  spiced 
beef  and  cabbage  in  the  centre  of  the  table  ;  a  tureen 
of  thick  soup,  with  forcemeat  balls  and  red  peppers 
in  it ;  two  red  earthen  platters  heaped,  one  with 
the  boiled  rice  and  onions,  the  other  with  the  deli 
cious  frijoles  (beans)  so  dear  to  all  Mexican  hearts ; 
cut-glass  dishes  filled  with  hot  stewed  pears,  or  pre 
served  quinces,  or  grape  jelly ;  plates  of  frosted  cakes 
of  various  sorts ;  and  a  steaming  silver  teakettle,  from 
which  went  up  an  aroma  of  tea  such  as  had  never 
been  bought  or  sold  in  all  California,  the  Senora's 
one  extravagance  and  passion. 

"  Where  is  Ramoua  ? "  asked  the  Seiiora,  surprised 
and  displeased,  as  she  entered  the  dining-room. 
"  Margarita,  go  tell  the  Senorita  that  we  are  waiting 
for  her." 

Margarita  started  tremblingly,  with  flushed  face,  to 
wards  the  door.  What  would  happen  now  !  "  0  Saint 
Francis,"  she  inwardly  prayed,  "  help  us  this  once  ! " 

"  Stay,"  said  Felipe.  "  Do  not  call  Senorita  Kainona." 
Then,  turning  to  his  mother,  "  Eamona  cannot  come. 
She  is  not  in  the  house.  She  has  a  duty  to  perform 
for  to-morrow,"  he  said  ;  and  he  looked  meaningly  at 
his  mother,  adding,  "  we  will  not  wait  for  her." 

Much  bewildered,  the  Seiiora  took  her  seat  at  the 


62  RAMON  A. 

head  of  the  table  in  a  mechanical  way,  and  began, 
"  But  —  "  Felipe,  seeing  that  questions  were  to  fol 
low,  interrupted  her :  "I  have  just  spoken  with  her. 
It  is  impossible  for  her  to  come ; "  and  turning  to 
Father  Salvierderra,  he  at  once  engaged  him  in  con 
versation,  and  left  the  baffled  Senora  to  bear  her  un 
satisfied  curiosity  as  best  she  could. 

Margarita  looked  at  Felipe  with  an  expression  of 
profound  gratitude,  which  he  did  not  observe,  and 
would  not  in  the  least  have  understood  ;  for  Ilamona 
had  not  confided  to  him  any  details  of  the  disaster. 
Seeing  him  under  her  window,  she  had  called 
cautiously  to  him,  and  said :  "  Dear  Felipe,  do  you 
think  you  can  save  me  from  having  to  come  to 
supper  ?  A  dreadful  accident  has  happened  to  the 
altar-cloth,  and  I  must  mend  it  and  wash  it,  and 
there  is  barely  time  before  dark.  Don't  let  them  call 
me ;  I  shall  be  down  at  the  brook,  and  they  will  not 
find  me,  and  your  mother  will  be  displeased." 

This  wise  precaution  of  liamona's  was  the  salva 
tion  of  everything,  so  far  as  the  altar-cloth  was  con 
cerned.  The  rents  had  proved  far  less  serious  than 
she  had  feared ;  the  daylight  held  out  till  the  last  of 
them  wras  skilfully  mended  ;  and  just  as  the  red 
beams  of  the  sinking  sun  carne  streaming  through 
the  willow-trees  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  Ramona, 
darting  down  the  garden,  had  reached  the  brook,  and 
kneeling  on  the  grass,  had  dipped  the  linen  into  the 
water. 

Her  hurried  working  over  the  lace,  and  her  anxiety, 
had  made  her  cheeks  scarlet.  As  she  ran  down  the 
garden,  her  comb  had  loosened  and  her  hair  fallen  to 
her  waist.  Stopping  only  to  pick  up  the  comb  and 
thrust  it  in  her  pocket,  she  had  sped  on,  as  it  would 
soon  be  too  dark  for  her  to  see  the  stains  on  the 
linen,  and  it  was  going  to  be  no  small  trouble  to  get 
them  out  without  fraying  the  lace. 


RAMONA.  63 

Her  hair  in  disorder,  her  sleeves  pinned  loosely  on 
her  shoulders,  her  whole  face  aglow  with  the  earnest 
ness  of  her  task,  she  bent  low  over  the  stones,  rinsing 
the  altar-cloth  up  and  down  in  the  water,  anxiously* 
scanning  it,  then  plunging  it  in  again. 

The  sunset  beams  played  around  her  hair  like  a 
halo ;  the  whole  place  was  aglow  with  red  light,  and 
her  face  was  kindled  into  transcendent  beauty.  A 
sound  arrested  her  attention.  She  looked  up.  Forms, 
dusky  black  against  the  fiery  western  sky,  were 
coming  down  the  valley.  It  was  the  band  of  Indian 
shearers.  They  turned  to  the  left,  and  went  towards 
the  sheep  sheds  and  booths.  But  there  was  one  of  them 
that  Eamona  did  not  see.  He  had  been  standing  for 
some  minutes  concealed  behind  a  large  willow-tree 
a  few  rods  from  the  place  where  Ramona  was  kneel 
ing.  It  was  Alessandro,  son  of  Pablo  Assis,  captain 
of  the  shearing  band.  Walking  slowly  along  in  ad 
vance  of  his  men,  he  had  felt  a  light,  as  from  a  mirror 
held  in  the  sun,  smite  his  eyes.  It  was  the  red  sun 
beam  on  the  glittering  water  where  Ramona  knelt. 
In  .the  same  second  he  saw  Eamona. 

He  halted,  as  wild  creatures  of  the  forest  halt  at 
a  sound ;  gazed  ;  walked  abruptly  away  from  his  men, 
who  kept  on,  not  noticing  his  disappearance.  Cau 
tiously  he  moved  a  few  steps  nearer,  into  the  shelter 
of  a  gnarled  old  willow,  from  behind  which  he  could 
gaze  unperceived  on  the  beautiful  vision,  —  for  so  it 
seemed  to  him. 

As  he  gazed,  his  senses  seemed  leaving  him,  and 
unconsciously  he  spoke  aloud  :  "  Christ !  What  shall 
I  do!" 


V. 


THE  room  in  which  Father  Salvierderra  always 
slept  when  at  the  Sefiora  Moreno's  house  was 
the  southeast  corner  room.  It  had  a  window  to  the 
south  and  one  to  the  east.  When  the  first  glow  of 
dawn  came  in  the  sky,  this  eastern  window  was  lit 
up  as  by  a  fire.  The  Father  was  always  on  watch 
for  it,  having  usually  been  at  prayer  for  hours.  As 
the  first  ray  reached  the  window,  he  would  throw  the 
casement  wide  open,  and  standing  there  with  bared 
head,  strike  up  the  melody  of  the  sunrise  hymn  sung 
in  all  devout  Mexican  families.  It  was  a  beautiful 
custom,  not  yet  wholly  abandoned.  At  the  first  dawn 
of  light,  the  oldest  member  of  the  family  arose,  and 
began  singing  some  hymn  familiar  to  the  household. 
It  was  the  duty  of  each  person  hearing  it  to  imme 
diately  rise,  or  at  least  sit  up  in  bed,  and  join  in  the 
singing.  In  a  few  moments  the  whole  family  would 
be  singing,  and  the  joyous  sounds  pouring  out  from 
the  house  like  the  music  of  the  birds  in  the  fields  at 
dawn.  The  hymns  were  usually  invocations  to  the 
Virgin,  or  to  the  saint  of  the  day,  and  the  melodies 
were  sweet  and  simple. 

On  this  morning  there  was  another  watcher  for 
the  dawn  besides  Father  Salvierderra.  It  was  Ales- 
saudro,  who  had  been  restlessly  wandering  about 
since  midnight,  and  had  finally  seated  himself  under 
the  willow-trees  by  the  brook,  at  the  spot  where  lie 
had  seen  Ramona  the  evening  before.  He  recollected 
this  custom  of  the  sunrise  liymu  when  he  and  his 


RAMONA.  G5 

band  were  at  the  Sefiora's  the  last  year,  and  he  had 
chanced  then  to  learn  that  the  .Father  slept  in  the 
southeast  room.  From  the  spot  where  he  sat,  he 
could  see  the  south  window  of  this  room.  He  could 
also  see  the  low  eastern  horizon,  at  which  a  faint 
luminous  line  already  showed.  The  sky  was  like 
amber ;  a  few  stars  still  shone  faintly  in  the  zenith. 
There  was  not  a  sound.  It  was  one  of  those  rare 
moments  in  which  one  can  without  difficulty  realize 
the  noiseless  spinning  of  the  earth  through  space. 
Alessandro  knew  nothing  of  this  ;  he  could  not  have 
been  made  to  believe  that  the  earth  was  moving.  He 
thought  the  sun  was  coming  up  apace,  and  the  earth 
was  standing  still,  —  a  belief  just  as  grand,  just  as 
thrilling,  so  far  as  all  that  goes,  as  the  other :  men 
worshipped  the  sun  long  before  they  found  out  that 
it  stood  still.  Not  the  most  reverent  astronomer, 
with  the  mathematics  of  the  heavens  at  his  tongue's 
end,  could  have  had  more  delight  in  the  wondrous 
phenomenon  of  the  dawn,  than  did  this  simple-minded, 
unlearned  man. 

His  eyes  wandered  from  the  horizon  line  of  slowly 
increasing  light,  to  the  windows  of  the  house,  yet 
dark  and  still.  "  Which  window  is  hers  ?  Will  she 
open  it  when  the  song  begins  ? "  he  thought.  "  Is  it 
on  this  side  of  the  house  ?  Who  can  she  be  ?  She 
was  not  here  last  year.  Saw  the  saints  ever  so  beau 
tiful  a  creature  ! " 

At  last  came  the  full  red  ray  across  the  meadow. 
Alessandro  sprang  to  his  feet.  In  the  next  second 
Father  Salvierderra  flung  up  his  south  window,  and 
jleaning  out,  his  cowl  thrown  off,  his  thin  gray  locks 
'  streaming  back,  began  in  a  feeble  but  not  unmelodious 
voice  to  sing,  — 

"  O  beautiful  Queen, 
Princess  of  Heaven." 


66  RAMON  A. 

Before  he  had  finished  the  second  line,  a  half-dozen 
voices  had  joined  in,  —  the  Senora,  from  her  room  at 
the  west  end  of  the  veranda,  beyond  the  flowers ; 
Felipe,  from  the  adjoining  room  ;  llamona,  from  hers, 
the  next ;  and  Margarita  and  other  of  the  maids 
already  astir  in  the  wings  of  the  house. 

As  the  volume  of  melody  swelled,  the  canaries 
waked,  and  the  finches  and  the  linnets  in  the  veranda 
roof.  The  tiles  of  this  roof  were  laid  on  bundles  of 
tule  reeds,  in  which  the  linnets  delighted  to  build 
their  nests.  The  roof  was  alive  with  them,  —  scores 
and  scores,  nay  hundreds,  tame  as  chickens ;  their 
tiny  shrill  twitter  was  like  the  tuning  of  myriads  of 
violins. 

"  Singers  at  dawn 

From  the  heavens  above 

People  all  regions  ; 

Gladly  we  too  sing," 

continued  the  hymn,  the  birds  corroborating  the 
stanza.  Then  men's  voices  joined  in,  —  Juan  and 
Luigo,  and  a  dozen  more,  walking  slowly  up  from  the 
sheepfolds.  The  hymn  was  a  favorite  one,  known  to 
all. 

"  Come,  O  sinners, 

Come,  and  we  will  sing 

Tender  hymns 

To  our  refuge," 

was  the  chorus,  repeated  after  each  of  the  five  verses 
of  the  hymn. 

Alessandro  also  knew  the  hymn  well.  His  father, 
Chief  Pablo,  had  been  the  leader  of  the  choir  at  the 
San  Luis  Key  Mission  in  the  last  years  of  its  splen 
dor,  and  had  brought  away  with  him  much  of  the  old 
choir  music.  Some  of  the  books  had  been  written 
by  his  own  hand,  on  parchment.  He  not  only  sang 
well,  but  was  a  good  player  on  the  violin.  There 
was  not  at  any  of  the  Missions  so  fine  a  band  of  per- 


RAMONA.  67 

formers  on  stringed  instruments  as  at  San  Luis  Eey. 
Father  Peyri  was  passionately  fond  of  music,  and 
spared  no  pains  in  training  all  of  the  neophytes  under 
his  charge  who  showed  any  special  talent  in  that 
direction.  Chief  Pablo,  after  the  breaking  up  of  the 
Mission,  had  settled  at  Temecula,  with  a  small  band 
of  his  Indians,  and  endeavored,  so  far  as  was  in  his 
power,  to  keep  up  the  old  religious  services.  The 
music  in  the  little  chapel  of  the  Temecula  Indians 
was  a  surprise  to  all  who  heard  it. 

Alessandro  had  inherited  his  father's  love  and 
talent  for  music,  and  knew  all  the  old  Mission  music 
by  heart.  This  hymn  to  the 

"  Beautiful  Queen, 
Princess  of  Heaven," 

was  one  of  his  special  favorites ;  and  as  he  heard 
verse  after  verse  rising,  he  could  not  forbear  strik 
ing  in. 

At  the  first  notes  of  this  rich  new  voice,  Eamona's 
voice  ceased  in  surprise  ;  and,  throwing  up  her  win 
dow,  she  leaned  out,  eagerly  looking  in  all  directions 
to  see  who  it  could  be.  Alessandro  saw  her,  and 
sang  no  more. 

"  What  could  it  have  been  ?  Did  I  dream  it  ? " 
thought  Eamona,  drew  in  her  head,  and  began  to 
sing  again. 

With  the  next  stanza  of  the  chorus,  the  same  rich 
barytone  notes.  They  seemed  to  float  in  under  all 
the  rest,  and  bear  them  along,  as  a  great  wave 
bears  a  boat.  Eamona  had  never  heard  such  a  voice. 
Felipe  had  a  good  tenor,  and  she  liked  to  sing  with 
him,  or  to  hear  him  ;  but  this  —  this  was  from  an 
other  world,  this  sound.  Eamona  felt  every  note  of 
it  penetrating  her  consciousness  with  a  subtle  thrill 
almost  like  pain.  When  the  hymn  ended,  she  lis 
tened  eagerly,  hoping  Father  Salvierderra  would  strike 


68  RAMONA. 

up  a  second  hymn,  as  he  often  did ;  but  he  did  not 
this  morning ;  there  was  too  much  to  be  done  ;  every 
body  was  in  a  hurry  to  be  at  work :  windows  shut, 
doors  opened ;  the  sounds  of  voices  from  all  directions^ 
ordering,  questioning,  answering,  began  to  be  heard. 
The  sun  rose  and  let  a  flood  of  work-a-day  light  on 
the  whole  place.  , 

Margarita  ran  and  unlocked  the  chapel  door,  put 
ting  up  a  heartfelt  thanksgiving  to  Saint  Francis  and 
the  Senorita,  as  she  saw  the  snowy  altar-cloth  in  its 
place,  looking,  from  that  distance  at  least,  as  good  as 
new. 

The  Indians  and  the  shepherds,  and  laborers  of  all 
sorts,  were  coming  towards  the  chapel.  The  Senora, 
with  her  best  black  silk  handkerchief  bound  tight 
around  her  forehead,  the  ends  hanging  down  each 
side  of  her  face,  making  her  look  like  an  Assyrian 
priestess,  was  descending  the  veranda  steps,  Felipe 
at  her  side;  and  Father  Salvierderra  had  already 
entered  the  chapel  before  Eamona  appeared,  or  Ales- 
sandro  stirred  from  his  vantage-post  of  observation 
at  the  willows. 

When  Eamona  came  out  from  the  door  she  bore  in 
her  hands  a  high  silver  urn  filled  with  ferns.  She  had 
been  for  many  days  gathering  and  hoarding  these. 
They  were  hard  to  find,  growing  only  in  one  place  in  a 
rocky  canon,  several  miles  away. 

As  she  stepped  from  the  veranda  to  the  ground, 
Alessandro  walked  slowly  up  the  garden-walk,  facing 
her.  She  met  his  eyes,  and,  without  knowing  why, 
thought,  "That  must  be  the  Indian  who  sang."  As 
she  turned  to  the  right  and  entered  the  chapel,  Ales 
sandro  followed  her  hurriedly,  and  knelt  on  the  stones 
close  to  the  chapel  door.  He  would  be  near  when 
she  came  out.  As  he  looked  in  at  the  door,  he  saw 
her  glide  up  the  aisle,  place  the  ferns  on  the  reading- 
desk,  and  then  kneel  down  by  Felipe  in  front  of 


RAM  ON  A.  69 

the  altar.  Felipe  turned  towards  her,  smiling  slightly, 
with  a  look  as  of  secret  intelligence. 

"  Ah,  Senor  Felipe  has  married.  She  is  his  wife," 
thought  Alessandro,  and  a  strange  pain  seized  him. 
He  did  not  analyze  it ;  hardly  knew  what  it  meant. 
He  was  only  twenty-one.  He  had  not  thought  much1 
about  women.  He  was  a  distant,  cold  boy,  his  own 
people  of  the  Temecula  village  said.  It  had  come, 
they  believed,  of  learning  to  read,  which  was  always 
bad.  Chief  Pablo  had  not  done  his  son  any  good  by 
trying  to  make  him  like  white  men.  If  the  Fathers 
could  have  stayed,  and  the  life  at  the  Mission  have 
gone  on,  why,  Alessandro  could  have  had  work  to  do  for 
the  Fathers,  as  his  father  had  before  him.  Pablo  had 
been  Father  Peyri's  right-hand  man  at  the  Mission  ; 
had  kept  all  the  accounts  about  the  cattle ;  paid  the 
wages  ;  handled  thousands  of  dollars  of  gold  every 
month.  But  that  was  "  in  the  time  of  the  king  ;  "  it 
was  very  different  now.  The  Americans  would  not 
let  an  Indian  do  anything  but  plough  and  sow  and 
herd  cattle.  A  man  need  not  read  and  write,  to  do 
that. 

Even  Pablo  sometimes  doubted  whether  he  had 
done  wisely  in  teaching  Alessandro  all  he  knew  him 
self.  Pablo  was,  for  one  of  his  race,  wise  and  far- 
seeing.  He  perceived  the  danger  threatening  his 
people  on  all  sides.  Father  Peyri,  before  he  left 
the  country,  had  said  to  him :  "  Pablo,  your  people 
will  be  driven  like  sheep  to  the  slaughter,  unless 
you  keep  them  together.  Knit  firm  bonds  between 
them ;  band  them  into  pueblos  ;  make  them  work ; 
and  above  all,  keep  peace  with  the  whites.  It  is 
your  only  chance." 

Most  strenuously  Pablo  had  striven  to  obey  Father 
Peyri's  directions.  He  had  set  his  people  the  ex 
ample  of  constant  industry,  working  steadily  in  his 
fields  and  caring  well  for  his  herds.  He  had  built 


70  RAMONA. 

a  chapel  in  his  little  village,  and  kept  tip  forms 
of  religious  service  there.  Whenever  there  were 
troubles  with  the  whites,  or  rumors  of  them,  he  went 
from  house  to  house,  urging,  persuading,  command 
ing  his  people  to  keep  the  peace.  At  one  time  when 
there  was  an  insurrection  of  some  of  the  Indian 
tribes  farther  south,  and  for  a  few  days  it  looked  as 
if  there  would  be  a  general  Indian  war,  he  removed 
the  greater  part  of  his  band,  men,  women,  and  chil 
dren  driving  their  flocks  and  herds  with  them,  to 
Los  Angeles,  and  camped  there  for  several  days,  that 
they  might  be  identified  with  the  whites  in  case 
hostilities  became  serious. 

But  his  labors  did  not  receive  the  reward  that 
they  deserved.  With  every  day  that  the  intercourse 
between  his  people  and  the  whites  increased,  he 
saw  the  whites  gaining,  his  people  surely  losing 
ground,  and  his  anxieties  deepened.  The  Mexican 
owner  of  the  Temecula  valley,  a  friend  of  Father 
Peyri's,  and  a  good  friend  also  of  Pablo's,  had  re 
turned  to  Mexico  in  disgust  with  the  state  of  affairs 
in  California,  and  was  reported  to  be  lying  at  the 
point  of  death.  This  man's  promise  to  Pablo,  that 
lie  and  his  people  should  always  live  in  the  valley 
undisturbed,  was  all  the  title  Pablo  had  to  the  vil 
lage  lands.  In  the  days  when  the  promise  was 
given,  it  was  all  that  was  necessary.  The  lines 
marking  off  the  Indians'  lands  were  surveyed,  and 
put  on  the  map  of  the  estate.  No  Mexican  pro 
prietor  ever  broke  faith  with  an  Indian  family  or 
village  thus  placed  on  his  lands. 

But  Pablo  had  heard  rumors,  which  greatly  dis 
quieted  him,  that  such  pledges  and  surveyed  lines  as 
these  were  coming  to  be  held  as  of  no  value,  not 
binding  on  purchasers  of  grants.  He  was  intelligent 
enough  to  see  that  if  this  were  so,  lie  and  his  peo 
ple  were  ruined.  All  these  perplexities  and  fears  he 


RAMON  A.  71 

confided  to  Alessandro;  long  anxious  hours  the  father 
and  son  spent  together,  walking  back  and  forth  in 
the  village,  or  sitting  in  front  of  their  little  adobe 
house,  discussing  what  could  be  done.  There  was 
always  the  same  ending  to  the  discussion,  —  a  long 
sigh,  and,  "  We  must  wait,  we  can  do  nothing." 

No  wonder  Alessandro  seemed,  to  the  more  igno 
rant  and  thoughtless  young  men  and  women  of  his 
village,  a  cold  and  distant  lad.  He  was  made  old  be 
fore  his  time.  He  was  carrying  in  his  heart  bur 
dens  of  which  they  knew  nothing.  So  long  as  the 
wheat-fields  came  up  well,  and  there  was  no  drought, 
and  the  horses  and  sheep  had  good  pasture,  in 
plenty,  on  the  hills,  the  Temecula  people  could  be 
merry,  go  day  by  day  to  their  easy  work,  play 
games  at  sunset,  and  sleep  sound  all  night.  But 
Alessandro  and  his  father  looked  beyond.  And  this 
was  the  one  great  reason  why  Alessandro  had  not 
yet  thought  about  women,  in  way  of  love ;  this,  and 
also  the  fact  that  even  the  little  education  he  had 
received  was  sufficient  to  raise  a  slight  barrier,  of 
which  he  was  unconsciously  aware,  between  him  and 
the  maidens  of  the  village.  If  a  quick,  warm  fancy 
for  any  one  of  them  ever  stirred  in  his  veins,  he 
found  himself  soon,  \\Q  knew  not  how,  cured  of  it. 
For  a  dance,  or  a  game,  or  a  friendly  chat,  for  the 
trips  into  the  mountains  after  acorns,  or  to  the 
marshes  for  grasses  and  reeds,  he  was  their  good 
comrade,  and  they  were  his ;  but  never  had  the 
desire  to  take  one  of  them  for  his  wife,  entered  into 
Alessandro's  mind.  The  vista  of  the  future,  for  him, 
was  filled  full  by  thoughts  which  left  no  room  for 
love's  dreaming ;  one  purpose  and  one  fear  filled 
it,  —  the  purpose  to  be  his  father's  worthy  succes 
sor,  for  Pablo  was  old  now,  and  very  feeble ;  the  fear, 
that  exile  and  ruin  were  in  store  for  them  all. 

It  was  of  these  things  he  had  been  thinking  as  he 


72  RAMONA. 

walked  alone,  in  advance  of  his  men,  on  the  previous 
night,  when  he  first  saw  Eamona  kneeling  at  the 
brook.  Between  that  moment  and  the  present,  it 
seemed  to  Alessandro  that  some  strange  miracle 
must  have  happened  to  him.  The  purposes  and  the 
fears  had  alike  gone.  A  face  replaced  them;  a  vague 
wonder,  pain,  joy,  he  knew  not  what,  filled  him  so  to 
overflowing  that  he  was  bewildered.  If  he  had  been 
what  the  world  calls  a  civilized  man,  he  would  have 
known  instantly,  and  would  have  been  capable  of 
weighing,  analyzing,  and  reflecting  on  his  sensations 
at  leisure.  But  he  was  not  a  civilized  man;  he  had 
to  bring  to  bear  on  his  present  situation  only  simple, 
primitive,  uneducated  instincts  and  impulses.  If 
Eamona  had  been  a  maiden  of  his  own  people  or 
race,  he  would  have  drawn  near  to  her  as  quickly  as 
iron  to  the  magnet.  But  now,  if  he  had  gone  so  far 
as  to  even  think  of  her  in  such  a  way,  she  would 
have  been,  to  his  view,  as  far  removed  from  him  as 
was  the  morning  star  beneath  whose  radiance  he  had 
that  morning  watched,  hoping  for  sight  of  her  at  her 
window.  He  did  not,  however,  go  so  far  as  to  thus 
think  of  her.  Even  that  would  have  been  impossi 
ble.  He  only  knelt  on  the  stones  outside  the  chapel 
door,  mechanically  repeating. the  prayers  with  the 
rest,  waiting  for  her  to  reappear.  He  had  no  doubt, 
now,  that  she  was  Senor  Felipe's  wife ;  all  the  same 
he  wished  to  kneel  there  till  she  came  out,  that  he 
might  see  her  face  again.  His  vista  of  purpose,  fear, 
hope,  had  narrowed  now  down  to  that, — just  one 
more  sight  of  her.  Ever  so  civilized,  he  could  hardly 
have  worshipped  a  woman  better.  The  mass  seemed 
to  him  endlessly  long.  Until  near  the  last,  he  forgot 
to  sing ;  then,  in  the  closing  of  the  final  hymn, 
he  suddenly  remembered,  and  the  clear  deep-toned 
voice  pealed  out,  as  before,  like  the  undertone  of  a 
great  sea-wave,  sweeping  along. 


RAMON  A.  73 

Ramona  heard  the  first  note,  and  felt  again  the 
same  thrill.  She  was  as  much  a  musician  born  as 
Alessandro  himself.  As  'she  rose  from  her  knees, 
she  whispered  to  Felipe :  "  Felipe,  do  find  out  which 
one  of  the  Indians  it  is  has  that  superb  voice.  I 
never  heard  anything  like  it." 

"  Oh,  that  is  Alessandro,"  replied  Felipe,  "  old 
Pablo's  son.  He  is  a  splendid  fellow.  Don't  you 
recollect  his  singing  two  years  ago  ? " 

"  I  was  not  here,"  replied  Kamona ;  "  you  for- 
get." 

"  Ah,  yes,  so  you  were  away ;  I  had  forgotten," 
said  Felipe.  "  Well,  he  was  here.  They  made  him 
captain  of  the  shearing-band,  though  he  was  only 
twenty,  and  he  managed  the  men  splendidly.  They 
saved  nearly  all  their  money  to  carry  home,  and  I 
never  knew  them  do  such  a  thing  before.  Father 
Salvierderra  was  here,  which  might  have  had  some 
thing  to  do  with  it ;  but  I  think  it  was  quite  as 
much  Alessandro.  He  plays  the  violin  beautifully. 
I  hope  he  has  brought  it  along.  He  plays  the  old 
San  Luis  Key  music.  His  father  was  band-master 
there." 

feamona's  eyes  kindled  with  pleasure.  "  Does  your 
mother  like  it,  to  have  him  play  ? "  she  asked. 

Felipe  nodded.  "  We  '11  have  him  up  on  the  veranda 
to-night,"  he  said. 

While  this  whispered  colloquy  was  going  on,  the 
chapel  had  emptied,  the  Indians  and  Mexicans  all 
hurrying  out  to  set  about  the  day's  work.  Alessan 
dro  lingered  at  the  doorway  as  long  as  he  dared,  till 
he  was  sharply  called  by  Juan  Canito",  looking  back : 
"  What  are  you  gaping  at  there,  you  Alessandro  ! 
Hurry,  now,  and  get  your  men  to  work.  After  wait 
ing  till  near  midsummer  for  this  shearing,  we  '11 
make  as  quick  work  of  it  as  we  can.  Have  you  got 
your  best  shearers  here  ? " 


74  RAMON  A. 

"  Ay,  that  I  have,"  answered  Alessandro ;  "  not  a  man 
of  them  but  can  shear  his  hundred  in  a  day.  There 
is  not  such  a  band  as  ours  in  all  San  Diego  County ; 
and  we  don't  turn  out  the  sheep  all  bleeding,  either ; 
you  '11  see  scarce  a  scratch  on  their  sides." 

"  Humph  !  "  retorted  Juan  Can.  "  'T  is  a  poor 
shearer,  indeed,  that  draws  blood  to  speak  of.  I  Ve 
sheared  many  a  thousand  sheep  in  my  day,  and  never 
a  red  stain  on  the  shears.  But  the  Mexicans  have 
always  been  famed  for  good  shearers." 

Juan's  invidious  emphasis  on  the  word  "Mexicans" 
did  not  escape  Alessandro.  "  And  we  Indians  also," 
he  answered,  good-naturedly,  betraying  no  annoyance ; 
"  but  as  for  these  Americans,  I  saw  one  at  work  the 
other  day,  that  man  Lomax,  who  has  settled  near 
Temecula,  and  upon  my  faith,  Juan  Can,  I  thought 
it  was  a  slaughter-pen,  and  not  a  shearing.  The  poor 
beasts  limped  off  with  the  blood  running." 

Juan  did  not  see  his  way  clear  at  the  moment  to  any 
fitting  rejoinder  to  this  easy  assumption,  on  Alessan- 
dro's  part,  of  the  equal  superiority  of  Indians  and 
Mexicans  in  the  sheep-shearing  art ;  so,  much  vexed, 
with  another  "  Humph  ! "  he  walked  away ;  walked 
away  so  fast,  that  he  lost  the  sight  of  a  smile  'on 
Alessandro's  face,  which  would  have  vexed  him  still 
farther. 

At  the  sheep-shearing  sheds  and  pens  all  was  stir 
and  bustle.  The  shearing  shed  was  a  huge  carica 
ture  of  a  summer-house,  —  a  long,  narrow  structure, 
sixty  feet  long  by  twenty  or  thirty  wide,  all  roof  and 
pillars ;  no  walls ;  the  supports,  slender  rough  posts, 
as  far  apart  as  was  safe,  for  the  upholding  the 
roof,  which  was  of  rough  planks  loosely  laid  from 
beam  to  beam.  On  three  sides  of  this  were  the  sheep- 
pens  filled  with  sheep  and  lambs. 

A  few  rods  away  stood  the  booths  in  which  the 
shearers'  food  was  to  be  cooked  and  the  shearers  fed. 


RAMONA.  75 

These  were  mere  temporary  affairs,  roofed  only  by 
willow  boughs  with  the  leaves  left  on.  Near  these, 
the  Indians  had  already  arranged  their  camp ;  a 
hut  or  two  of  green  boughs  had  been  built,  but  for 
the  most  part  they  would  sleep  rolled  up  in  their 
blankets,  on  the  ground.  There  was  a  brisk  wind, 
and  the  gay-colored  wings  of  the  windmill  blew 
furiously  round  and  round,  pumping  out  into  the 
tank  below  a  stream  of  water  so  swift  and  strong, 
that  as  the  men  crowded  around,  wetting  and  sharp 
ening  their  knives,  they  got  well  spattered,  and  had 
much  merriment,  pushing  and  elbowing  each  other 
into  the  spray. 

A  high  four-posted  frame  stood  close  to  the  shed ; 
in  this,  swung  from  the  four  corners,  hung  one  of  the 
great  sacking  bags  in  which  the  fleeces  were  to  be 
packed.  A  big  pile  of  these  bags  lay  on  the  ground 
at  foot  of  the  posts.  Juan  Can  eyed  them  with  a 
chuckle.  "  We  '11  fill  more  than  those  before  night, 
Senor  Felipe,"  he  said.  He  waa  in  his  element,  Juan 
Can,  at  shearing  times.  Then  came  his  reward  for 
the  somewhat  monotonous  and  stupid  year's  work. 
The  world  held  no  better  feast  for  his  eyes  than  the 
sight  of  a  long  row  of  big  bales  of  fleece,  tied,  stamped 
with  the  Moreno  brand,  ready  to  be  drawn  away  to 
the  mills.  "Now,  there  is  something  substantial," 
he  thought ;  "  no  chance  of  wool  going  amiss  in 
market ! " 

If  a  year's  crop  were  good,  Juan's  happiness  was 
assured  for  the  next  six  mouths.  If  it  proved  poor, 
he  turned  devout  immediately,  and  spent  the  next 
six  months  calling  on  the  saints  for  better  luck,  and 
redoubling  his  exertions  with  the  sheep. 

On  one  of  the  posts  of  the  shed  short  project 
ing  slats  were  nailed,  like  half-rounds  of  a  ladder. 
Lightly  as  a  rope-walker  Felipe  ran  up  these,  to  the 
roof,  and  took  his  stand  there,  ready  to  take  the 


76  RAM  ON  A. 

fleeces  and  pack  them  in  the  bag  as  fast  as  they 
should  be  tossed  up  from  below.  Luigo,  with  a  big 
leathern  wallet  fastened  in  front  of  him,  filled  with 
five-cent  pieces,  took  his  stand  in  the  centre  of  the 
shed.  The  thirty  shearers,  running  into  the  nearest 
pen,  dragged  each  his  sheep  into  the  shed,  in  a 
twinkling  of  an  eye  had  the  creature  between  his 
knees,  helpless,  immovable,  and  the  sharp  sound  of 
the  shears  set  in.  The  sheep-shearing  had  begun. 
No  rest  now.  Not  a  second's  silence  from  the  bleat 
ing,  baa-ing,  opening  and  shutting,  clicking,  sharpen 
ing  of  shears,  flying  of  fleeces  through  the  air  to  the 
roof,  pressing  and  stamping  them  down  in  the  bales  ; 
not  a  second's  intermission,  except  the  hour  of  rest  at 
noon,  from  sunrise  till  sunset,  till  the  whole  eight 
thousand  of  the  Senora  Moreno's  sheep  were  shorn. 
It  was  a  dramatic  spectacle.  As  soon  as  a  sheep  was 
shorn,  the  shearer  ran  with  the  fleece  in  his  hand 
to  Luigo,  threw  it  down  on  a  table,  received  his 
five-cent  piece,  dropped  it  in  his  pocket,  ran  to  the 
pen,  dragged  out  another  sheep,  and  in  less  than  five 
minutes  was  back  again  with  a  second  fleece.  The 
shorn  sheep,  released,  bounded  off  into  another  pen, 
where,  light  in  the  head  no  doubt  from  being  three  to 
five  pounds  lighter  on  their  legs,  they  trotted  round 
bewilderedly  for  a  moment,  then  flung  up  their  heels 
and  capered  for  joy. 

It  was  warm  work.  The  dust  from  the  fleeces  and 
the  trampling  feet  filled  the  air.  As  the  sun  rose 
'higher  in  the  sky  the  sweat  poured  off  the  men's 
faces  ;  and  Felipe,  standing  without  shelter  on  the  roof, 
'found  out  very  soon  that  he  had  by  no  means  yet  got 
back  his  full  strength  since  the  fever.  Long  before 
noon,  except  for  sheer  pride,  and  for  the  recollection 
of  Juan  Canito's  speech,  he  would  have  come  down 
and  yielded  his  place  to  the  old  man.  But  he  was 
resolved  not  to  give  up,  and  he  worked  on,  though  his 


RAM  ON  A.  77 

face  was  purple  and  his  head  throbbing.  After  the 
bag  of  fleeces  is  half  full,  the  packer  stands  in  it, 
jumping  with  his  full  weight  on  the  wool,  as  he 
throws  in  the  fleeces,  to  compress  them  as  much  as 
possible.  When  Felipe  began  to  do  this,  he  found 
that  he  had  indeed  overrated  his  strength.  As  the 
first  cloud  of  the  sickening  dust  came  up,  enveloping 
his  head,  choking  his  breath,  he  turned  suddenly 
dizzy,  and  calling  faintly,  "Juan,  I  am  ill,"  sank 
helpless  down  in  the  wool.  He  had  fainted.  At 
Juan  Canito's  scream  of  dismay,  a  great  hubbub  and 
outcry  arose ;  all  saw  instantly  what  had  happened. 
Felipe's  head  was  hanging  limp  over  the  edge  of  the 
bag,  Juan  in  vain  endeavoring  to  get  sufficient  foot 
hold  by  his  side  to  lift  him.  One  after  another  the 
men  rushed  up  the  ladder,  until  they  were  all  stand 
ing,  a  helpless,  excited  crowd,  on  the  roof,  one  propos 
ing  one  thing,  one  another.  Only  Lnigo  had  had  the 
presence  of  mind  to  run  to  the  house  for  help.  The 
Sefiora  was  away  from  home.  She  had  gone  with 
Father  Salvierderra  to  a  friend's  house,  a  half-day's 
journey  off.  But  Ramona  was  there.  Snatching  all 
she  could  think  of  in  way  of  restoratives,  she  came 
flying  back  with  Luigo,  followed  by  every  servant 
of  the  establishment,  all  talking,  groaning,  gesticu 
lating,  suggesting,  wringing  their  hands,  —  as  dis 
heartening  a  Babel  as  ever  made  bad  matters  worse. 

Reaching  the  shed,  Ramona  looked  up  to  the  roof 
bewildered.  "  Where  is  he  ? "  she  cried.  The  next 
instant  she  saw  his  head,  held  in  Juan  Canito's  arms, 
just  above  the  edge  of  the  wool-bag.  She  groaned, 
"  Oh,  how  will  he  ever  be  lifted  out ! " 

"  I  will  lift  him,  Seiiora,"  cried  Alessandro,  coming 
to  the  front.  "  I  am  very  strong.  Do  not  be  afraid  ; 
I  will  bring  him  safe  down."  And  swinging  himself 
down  the  ladder,  he  ran  swiftly  to  the  carnp,  and 
returned,  bringing  in  his  hands  blankets.  Spring- 


78  RAMONA. 

ing  quickly  to  the  roof  again,  he  knotted  the  blankets 
firmly  together,  and  tying  them  at  the  middle  around  his 
waist,  threw  the  ends  to  his  men,  telling  them  to  hold 
him  firm.  He  spoke  in  the  Indian  tongue  as  he  was 
hurriedly  doing  this,  and  liamoua  did  not  at  first  un 
derstand  his  plan.  But  wher.  she  saw  the  Indians  move 
a  little  back  from  the  edge  of  the  roof,  holding  the 
blankets  firm  grasped,  while  Alessandro  stepped  out 
on  one  of  the  narrow  cross-beams  from  which  the  bag 
swung,  she  saw  what  he  meant  to  do.  She  held  her 
breath.  Felipe  was  a  slender  man  ;  Alessandro  was 
much  heavier,  and  many  inches  taller.  Still,  could 
any  man  carry  such  a  burden  safely  on  that  narrow 
beam  !  Eamona  looked  away,  and  shut  her  eyes, 
through  the  silence  which  followed.  It  was  only  a 
few  moments  ;  but  it  seemed  an  eternity  before  a  glad 
murmur  of  voices  told  her  that  it  was  done,  and  look 
ing  up,  she  saw  Felipe  lying  on  the  roof,  unconscious, 
his  face  white,  his  eyes  shut.  At  this  sight,  all  the 
servants  broke  out  afresh,  weeping  and  wailing,  "  He 
is  dead  !  He  is  dead !  " 

Ramona  stood  motionless,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Felipe's 
face.  She,  too,  believed  him  dead  ;  but  her  thought 
was  of  the  Sefiora. 

"  He  is  not  dead,"  cried  Juan  Canito,  who  had 
thrust  his  hand  under  Felipe's  shirt.  "  He  is  not 
dead.  It  is  only  a  faint." 

At  this  the  first  tears  rolled  down  Ramona's  face. 
She  looked  piteously  at  the  ladder  up  and  down  which 
she  had  seen  Alessandro  run  as  if  it  were  an  easy 
indoors  staircase.  "  If  I  could  only  get  up  there ! " 
she  said,  looking  from  one  to  another.  "  I  think  I 
can  ; "  and  she  put  one  foot  on  the  lower  round. 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  "  cried  Juan  Can,  seeing  her  move 
ment.  "Senorita!  Senorita!  do  not  attempt  it.  It 
is  not  too  easy  for  a  man.  You  will  break  your  neck. 
He  is  fast  coming  to  his  senses." 


RAMONA.  79 

Alcssandro  caught  the  words.  Spite  of  all  the 
confusion  and  terror  of  the  scene,  his  heart  heard  the 
word, "  Senorita."  Eamona  was  not  the  wife  of  Felipe, 
or  of  any  man.  Yet  Alessandro  recollected  that  he 
had  addressed  her  as  Seiiora,  and  she  did  not  seem 
surprised.  Coming  to  the  front  of  the  group,  he  said, 
bending  forward,  "  Senorita ! "  There  must  have  been 
something  in  the  tone  which  made  Eamona  start. 
The  simple  word  could  not  have  done  it.  "  Senorita," 
said  Alessandro,  "  it  will  be  nothing  to  bring  Senor 
Felipe  down  the  ladder.  He  is,  in  my  arms,  no  more 
than  one  of  the  lambs  yonder.  I  will  bring  him 
down  as  soon  as  he  is  recovered.  He  is  better  here 
till  then.  He  will  very  soon  be  himself  again.  It 
was  only  the  heat."  Seeing  that  the  expression  of 
anxious  distress  did  not  grow  less  on  Eamona' s  face, 
he  continued,  in  a  tone  still  more  earnest,  "  Will  not 
the  Senorita  trust  me  to  bring  him  safe  down  ?  " 

Eamona  smiled  faintly  through  her  tears.  "  Yes," 
she  said,  "  I  will  trust  you.  You  are  Alessandro,  are 
you  not  ? " 

"Yes,  Senorita,"  he  answered,  greatly  surprised, 
"  I  am  Alessandro." 


VI. 


A  BAD  beginning  did  not  make  a  good  ending- 
of  the  Seiiora  Moreno's  sheep-shearing  this 
year.  One  as  superstitiously  prejudiced  against  Eo- 
man  Catholic  rule  as  she  was  in  favor  of  it,  would 
have  found,  in  the  way  things  fell  out,  ample  reason 
for  a  belief  that  the  Senora  was  being  punished  for 
having  let  all  the  affairs  of  her  place  come  to  a  stand 
still,  to  await  the  coming  of  an  old  monk.  But 
the  pious  Senora,  looking  at  the  other  side  of  the 
shield,  was  filled  with  gratitude  that,  since  all  this 
ill  luck  was  to  befall  her,  she  had  the  good  Father 
Salvierderra  at  her  side  to  give  her  comfort  and 
counsel. 

It  was  not  yet  quite  noon  of  the  first  day,  when 
Felipe  fainted  and  fell  in  the  wool ;  and  it  was  only 
a  little  past  noon  of  the  third,  when  Juan  Canito, 
who,  not  without  some  secret  exultation,  had  taken 
Senor  Felipe's  place  at  the  packing,  fell  from  the 
cross-beam  to  the  ground,  and  broke  his  right  leg,  —  a 
bad  break  near  the  knee ;  and  Juan  Canito's  bones 
were  much  too  old  for  fresh  knitting.  He  would 
never  again  be  able  to  do  more  than  hobble  about  on 
crutches,  dragging  along  the  useless  leg.  It  was  a 
'  cruel  blow  to  the  old  man.  He  could  not  be  resigned 
to  it.  He  lost  faith  in  his  saints,  and  privately  in 
dulged  in  blasphemous  beratings  and  reproaches  of 
them,  which  would  have  filled  the  Senora  with  terror, 
had  she  known  that  such  blasphemies  were  being  com 
mitted  under  her  roof. 


RAMON  A.  81 

"As  many  times  as  I  have  crossed  that  plank,  in 
my  day  !  "  cried  Juan ;  "  only  the  fiends  themselves 
could  have  made  me  trip ;  and  there  was  that  whole 
box  of  candles  I  paid  for  with  my  own  money  last 
month,  and  burned  to  Saint  Francis  in  the  chapel  for 
this  very  sheep-shearing  !  He  may  sit  in  the  dark, 
for  all  me,  to  the  end  of  time  !  He  is  no  saint  at  all ! 
What  are  they  for,  if  not  to  keep  us  from  harm  when 
we  pray  to  them  ?  I  '11  pray  no  more.  I  believe  the 
Americans  are  right,  who  laugh  at  us."  From  morn 
ing  till  night,  and  nearly  from  night  till  morning,  for 
the  leg  ached  so  he  slept  little,  poor  Juan  groaned 
and  grumbled  and  swore,  and  swore  and  grumbled 
and  groaned.  Taking  care  of  him  was  enough,  Mar 
garita  said,  to  wear  out  the  patience  of  the  Madonna 
herself.  There  was  no  pleasing  him,  whatever  you 
did,  and  his  tongue  was  never  still  a  minute.  For 
her  part,  she  believed  that  it  must  be  as  he  said,  that 
the  fiends  had  pushed  him  off  the  plank,  and  that  the 
saints  had  had  their  reasons  for  leaving  him  to  his 
fate.  A  coldness  and  suspicion  gradually  grew  up 
in  the  minds  of  all  the  servants  towards  him.  His 
own  reckless  language,  combined  with  Margarita's 
reports,  gave  the  superstitious  fair  ground  for  believ 
ing  that  something  had  gone  mysteriously  wrong,  and 
that  the  Devil  was  in  a  fair  way  to  get  his  soul,  which 
was  very  hard  for  the  old  man,  in  addition  to  all  the 
rest  he  had  to  bear.  The  only  alleviation  he  had  for 
his  torments,  was  in  having  his  fellow-servants,  men 
and  women,  drop  in,  sit  by  his  pallet,  and  chat  with 
him,  telling  him  all  that  was  going  on  ;  and  when  by 
degrees  they  dropped  off,  coming  more  and  more  sel 
dom,  and  one  by  one  leaving  off  coming  altogether,  it 
was  the  one  drop  that  overflowed  his  cup  of  misery ; 
and  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  left  off  grumbling, 
and  spoke  only  when  he  must. 

This  phase  frightened  Margarita  even  more  than 
6 


82  RAMON  A. 

the  first.  Now,  she  thought,  surely  the  dumb  terror 
and  remorse  of  one  who  belongs  to  the  Devil  had 
seized  him,  and  her  hands  trembled  as  she  went 
through  the  needful  ministrations  for  him  each  day. 
Three  months,  at  least,  the  doctor,  who  had  come  from 
Ventura  to  set  the  leg,  had  said  he  must  lie  still  in 
bed  and  be  thus  tended.  "  Three  months  ! "  sighed 
Margarita.  "  If  I  be  not  dead  or  gone  crazy  myself 
before  the  end  of  that  be  come  ! " 

The  Sefiora  was  too  busy  with  Felipe  to  pay  at 
tention  or  to  give  thought  to  Juan.  Felipe's  tainting 
had  been  the  symptom  and  beginning  of  a  fierce  re 
lapse  of  the  fever,  and  he  was  lying  in  his  bed,  tossing 
and  raving  in  delirium,  always  about  the  wool. 

"  Throw  them  faster,  faster !  That 's  a  good  fleece  ; 
five  pounds  more  ;  a  round  ton  in  those  bales.  Juan  ! 
Alessaudro  !  Capitan  !  —  Jesus,  how  this  sun  burns 
my  head  ! " 

Several  times  he  had  called  "  Alessandro  "  so  ear 
nestly,  that  Father  Salvierderra  advised  bringing  Ales 
sandro  into  the  room,  to  see  if  by  any  chance  there 
might  have  been  something  in  his  mind  that  he 
wished  to  say  to  him.  But  when  Alessandro  stood 
by  the  bedside,  Felipe  gazed  at  him  vacantly,  as  he 
did  at  all  the  others,  still  repeating,  however,  "  Ales 
sandro  !  Alessandro  ! " 

"  I  think  perhaps  he  wants  Alessandro  to  play  on  his 
violin,"  sobbed  out  Ramona.  "  He  was  telling  me  how 
beautifully  Alessandro  played,  and  said  he  would  have 
him  up  on  the  veranda  in  the  evening  to  play  to  us." 

"We  might  try  it,"  said  Father  Salvierderra. 
"  Have  you  your  violin  here,  Alessandro  ?  " 

"  Alas,  no,  Father,"  replied  Alessandro,  "  I  did  not 
bring  it." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  do  him  good  if  you  were  to 
sing,  then,"  said  Ramona.  "  He  was  speaking  of  your 
voice  also." 


K AM  ON A.  83 

"  Oh,  try,  try  !  "  said  the  Senora,  turning  to  Ales- 
sandro.  "  Sing  something  low  and  soft." 

Alessandro  walked  from  the  bed  to  the  open  win 
dow,  and  after  thinking  for  a  moment,  began  a  slow 
strain  from  one  of  the  masses. 

At  the  first  note,  Felipe  became  suddenly  quiet, 
evidently  listening.  An  expression  of  pleasure  spread 
over  his  feverish  face.  He  turned  his  head  to  one 
side,  put  his  hand  under  his  cheek  and  closed  his 
eyes.  The  three  watching  him  looked  at  each  other 
in  astonishment. 

"It  is  a  miracle,"  said  Father  Salvierderra.  "He 
will  sleep." 

"  It  was  what  he  wanted  !  "  whispered  Eamona. 

The  Senora  spoke  not,  but  buried  her  face  in  the 
bedclothes  for  a  second  ;  then  lifting  it,  she  gazed  at 
Alessandro  as  if  she  were  praying  to  a  saint.  He, 
too,  saw  the  change  in  Felipe,  and  sang  lower  and 
lower,  till  the  notes  sounded  as  if  they  came  from 
afar ;  lower  and  lower,  slower ;  finally  they  ceased, 
as  if  they  died  away  lost  in  distance.  As  they  ceased, 
Felipe  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  go  on,  go  on  ! "  the  Senora  implored  in  a 
whisper  shrill  with  anxiety.  "  Do  not  stop  ! " 

Alessandro  repeated  the  strain,  slow,  solemn ;  his 
voice  trembled ;  the  air  in  the  room  seemed  stifling, 
spite  of  the  open  windows ;  he  felt  something  like 
terror,  as  lie  saw  Felipe  evidently  sinking  to  sleep  by 
reason  of  the  notes  of  his  voice.  There  had  been 
nothing  in  Alessandro's  healthy  outdoor  experience 
to  enable  him  to  understand  such  a  phenomenon. 
Felipe  breathed  more  and  more  slowly,  softly,  regu 
larly  ;  soon  he  was  in  a  deep  sleep.  The  singing 
stopped;  Felipe  did  not  stir. 

"  Can  I  go  ?  "  whispered  Alessandro. 

"  No,  no  ! "  replied  the  Senora,  impatiently.  "  He 
may  wake  any  minute." 


84  RAMON  A. 

Alessandro  looked  troubled,  but  bowed  his  head 
submissively,  and  remained  standing  by  the  window. 
Father  Salvierderra  was  kneeling  on  one  side  of  the 
bed,  the  Senora  at  the  other,  Rarnona  at  the  foot, — 
all  praying ;  the  silence  was  so  great  that  the  slight 
sounds  of  the  rosary  beads  slipping  against  each  other 
seemed  loud.  In  a  niche  in  the  wall,  at  the  head  of 
the  bed,  stood  a  statue  of  the  Madonna,  on  the  other 
side  a  picture  of  Santa  Barbara.  Candles  were  burn 
ing  before  each.  The  long  wicks  smouldered  and 
died  down,  sputtering,  then  flared  up  again  as  the 
ends  fell  into  the  melted  wax.  The  Sefiora's  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  Madonna.  The  Father's  were 
closed.  Eamona  gazed  at  Felipe  with  tears  streaming 
down  her  face  as  she  mechanically  told  her  beads. 

"  She  is  his  betrothed,  no  doubt,"  thought  Ales 
sandro.  "  The  saints  will  not  let  him  die ; "  and  Ales 
sandro  also  prayed.  But  the  oppression  of  the  scene 
was  too  much  for  him.  Laying  his  hand  on  the  low 
window-sill,  he  vaulted  over  it,  saying  to  Ramona, 
who  turned  her  head  at  the  sound,  "  I  will  not  go 
away,  Senorita.  I  will  be  close  under  the  window, 
if  he  awakes." 

Once  in  the  open  air,  he  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
gazed  bewilderedly  about  him,  like  one  just  recover 
ing  consciousness  after  a  faint.  Then  he  threw  him 
self  on  the  ground  under  the  window,  and  lay  looking 
up  into  the  sky.  Capitan  came  up,  and  with  a  low 
whine  stretched  himself  out  at  full  length  by  his  side. 
The  dog  knew  as  well  as  any  other  one  of  the  house 
that  danger  and  anguish  were  there. 

One  hour  passed,  two,  three ;  still  no  sound  from 
Felipe's  room.  Alessandro  rose,  and  looked  in  at  the 
window.  The  Father  and  the  Senora  had  not  changed 
their  attitudes ;  their  lips  were  yet  moving  in  prayer. 
But  Ramona  had  yielded  to  her  fatigue ;  slipped  from 
her  knees  into  a  sitting  posture,  with  her  head  leaning 


RAMONA.  85 

against  the  post  of  the  bedstead,  and  fallen  asleep. 
Her  face  was  swollen  and  discolored  by  weeping,  and 
heavy  circles  under  her  eyes  told  how  tired  she  was. 
For  three  days  and  nights  she  had  scarcely  rested,  so 
constant  were  the  demands  on  her.  Between  Felipe's1 
illness  and  Juan  Can's,  there  was  not  a  moment  with 
out  something  to  be  done,  or  some  perplexing  question, 
to  be  settled,  and  above  all,  and  through  all,  the  terrible 
sorrow,  liamona  was  broken  down  with  grief  at  the 
thought  of  Felipe's  death.  She  had  never  known  till 
she  saw  him  lying  there  delirious,  and  as  she  in  her 
inexperience  thought,  dying,  how  her  whole  life  was 
entwined  with  his.  But  now,  at  the  very  thought 
of  what  it  would  be  to  live  without  him,  her  heart 
sickened.  "When  he  is  buried,  I  will  ask  Father 
Salvierderra  to  take  me  away.  I  never  can  live  here 
alone,"  she  said  to  herself,  never  for  a  moment  per 
ceiving  that  the  word  "  alone  "  was  a  strange  one  to 
have  come  into  her  mind  in  the  connection.  The 
thought  of  the  Senora  did  not  enter  into  her  imagina 
tions  of  the  future  which  so  smote  her  with  terror. 
In  the  Senora's  presence,  liamona  always  felt  herself 
alone. 

Alessandro  stood  at  the  window,  his  arms  folded, 
leaning  on  the  sill,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Ramona's  face 
and  form.  To  any  other  than  a  lover's  eyes  she  had 
not  looked  beautiful  now  ;  but  to  Alessandro  she 
looked  more  beautiful  than  the  picture  of  Santa 
Barbara  on  the  wall  beyond.  With  a  lover's  instinct 
he  knew  the  thoughts  which  had  written  such  lines, 
on  her  face  in  the  last  three  days.  "  It  will  kill  her 
if  he  dies,"  he  thought,  "  if  these  three  days  have 
made  her  look  like  that."  And  Alessandro  threw  him 
self  on  the  ground  again,  his  face  down.  He  did  not 
know  whether  it  were  an  hour  or  a  day  that  he  had 
lain  there,  when  he  heard  Father  Salvierderra's  voice 
speaking  his  name.  He  sprang  up,  to  see  the  old 


86  RAM  ON  A. 

monk  standing  in  the  window,  tears  running  down 
his  cheeks.  "  God  be  praised,"  he  said,  "  the  Senor 
Felipe  will  get  well.  A  sweat  has  broken  out  on  his 
skin ;  he  still  sleeps,  but  when  he  wakes  he  will  be 
in  his  right  mind.  The  strength  of  the  fever  is 
broken.  But,  Alessandro,  we  know  not  how  to  spare 
you.  Can  you  not  let  the  men  go  without  you,  and 
remain  here  ?  The  Senora  would  like  to  have  you 
remain  in  Juan  Can's  place  till  he  is  about.  She  will 
give  you  the  same  wages  he  had.  Would  it  not  be  a 
good  thing  for  you,  Alessandro  ?  You  cannot  be  sure 
of  earning  so  much  as  that  for  the  next  three  months, 
can  you  ? " 

While  the  Father  was  speaking,  a  tumult  had  been 
going  on  in  Alessandro's  breast.  He  did  not  know  by 
name  any  of  the  impulses  which  were  warring  there, 
tearing  him  in  twain,  as  it  were,  by  their  pulling  in 
opposite  directions  ;  one  saying  "  Stay ! "  and  the  other 
saying  "  Go  !  "  He  would  not  have  known  what  any 
one  meant,  who  had  said  to  him,  "  It  is  danger  to  stay ; 
it  is  safety  to  fly."  All  the  same,  he  felt  as  if  he 
could  do  neither. 

"  There  is  another  shearing  yet,  Father,"  he  began, 
"  at  the  Ortega's  ranch.  I  had  promised  to  go  to  them 
as  soon  as  I  had  finished  here,  and  they  have  been 
wroth  enough  with  us  for  the  delay  already.  It  will 
not  do  to  break  the  promise,  Father." 

Father  Salvierderra's  face  fell.  "  No,  my  son,  cer 
tainly  not,"  he  said ;  "  but  could  no  one  else  take  your 
place  with  the  baud  ? " 

Hearing  these  words,  Ramona  came  to  the  window, 
rand  leaning  out,  whispered,  "  Are  you  talking  about 
Alessandro's  staying  ?  Let  me  come  and  talk  to  him. 
He  must  not  go."  And  running  swiftly  through  the 
hall,  across  the  veranda,  and  down  the  steps,  she  stood 
by  Alessandro's  side  in  a  moment.  Looking  up  in  his 
face  pleadingly,  she  said  :  "  We  can't  let  you  go,  Ales- 


RAMONA.  87 

sandro.  The  Senora  will  pay  wages  to  some  other  to 
go  in  your  place  with  the  shearers.  We  want  you  to 
stay  here  in  Juan  Can's  place  till  he  is  well.  Don't 
say  you  can't  stay !  Felipe  may  need  you  to  sing 
again,  and  what  would  we  do  then  ?  Can't  you 
stay  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  can  stay,  Senorita,"  answered  Alessandro, 
gravely.  "  I  will  stay  so  long  as  you  need  me." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Alessandro  !  "  Eamona  cried. 
"  You  are  good,  to  stay.  The  Senora  will  see  that  it 
is  110  loss  to  you ; "  and  she  flew  back  to  the  house. 

"  It  is  not  for  the  wages,  Senorita,"  Alessandro  be 
gan  ;  but  Eamona  was  gone.  She  did  not  hear  him, 
and  he  turned  away  with  a  sense  of  humiliation.  "  I 
don't  want  the  Senorita  to  think  that  it  was  the 
money  kept  me,"  he  said,  turning  to  Father  Salvier- 
derra.  "  I  would  not  leave  the  band  for  money ;  it  is 
to  help,  because  they  are  in  trouble,  Father." 

"Yes,  yes,  son.  I  understand  that,"  replied  the 
monk,  who  had  known  Alessandro  since  he  was  a 
little  fellow  playing  in  the  corridors  of  San  Luis  liey, 
the  pet  of  all  the  Brothers  there.  "  That  is  quite 
right  of  you,  and  the  Senora  will  not  be  insensible 
of  it.  It  is  not  for  such  things  that  money  can  pay. 
They  are  indeed  in  great  trouble  now,  and  only  the 
two  women  in  the  house ;  and  I  must  soon  be  going 
on  my  way  North  again." 

"  Is  it  sure  that  Seiior  Felipe  will  get  well  ? "  asked 
Alessandro. 

"  I  think  so,"  replied  Father  Salvierderra.  "  These 
relapses  are  always  worse  than  the  first  attack  ;  but 
I  have  never  known  one  to  die,  after  he  had  the 
natural  sweat  to  break  from  the  skin,  and  got  good 
sleep.  I  doubt  not  he  will  be  in  his  bed,  though,  for 
many  days,  and  there  will  be  much  to  be  seen  to. 
It  was  an  ill  luck  to  have  Juan  Can  laid  up,  too,  just 
at  this  time.  I  must  uo  and  see  him  ;  I  hear  he  is 


88  RAM  ON  A. 

in  most  rebellious  frame  of  mind,  and  blasphemes 
impiously." 

"  That  does  he  !  "  said  Alessandro.  "  He  swears 
the  saints  gave  him  over  to  the  fiends  to  push  him 
off  the  plank,  and  he  '11  have  none  of  them  from  this 
out !  I  told  him  to  beware,  or  they  might  bring  him 
•  to  worse  things  yet  if  he  did  not  mend  his  speech  of 
them." 

Sighing  deeply  as  they  walked  along,  the  monk 
said  :  "  It  is  but  a  sign  of  the  times.  Blasphemers  are 
on  the  highway.  The  people  are  being  corrupted. 
Keeps  your  father  the  worship  in  the  chapel  still, 
and  does  a  priest  come  often  to  the  village  ? " 

"  Only  twice  a  year,"  replied  Alessandro ;  "  and 
sometimes  for  a  funeral,  if  there  is  money  enough  to 
pay  for  the  mass.  But  my  father  has  the  chapel  open, 
and  each  Sunday  we  sing  what  we  know  of  the  mass ; 
and  the  people  are  often  there  praying." 

"  Ay,  ay  !  Ever  for  money ! "  groaned  Father  Sal- 
vierderra,  not  heeding  the  latter  part  of  the  sentence. 
"  Ever  for  money  !  It  is  a  shame.  But  that  it  were 
sure  to  be  held  as  a  trespass,  I  would  go  myself  to 
Temecula  once  in  three  months ;  but  I  may  not.  The 
priests  do  not  love  our  order." 

"  Oh,  if  you  could,  Father,"  exclaimed  Alessandro, 
"  it  would  make  my  father  very  glad !  He  speaks 
often  to  me  of  the  difference  he  sees  between  the 
words  of  the  Church  now  and  in  the  days  of  the  Mis 
sion.  He  is  very  sad,  Father,  and  in  great  fear  about 
our  village.  They  say  the  Americans,  when  they  buy 
the  Mexicans'  lands,  drive  the  Indians  away  as  if 
they  were  dogs ;  they  say  we  have  no  right  to  our 
lands.  Do  you  think  that  can  be  so,  Father,  when  we 
have  always  lived  on  them,  and  the  owners  promised 
them  to  us  forever  ?  " 

Father  Salvierderra  was  silent  a  long  time  before 
replying,  and  Alessaiidro  watched  his  face  anxiously. 


RAMONA..  89 

He  seemed  to  be  hesitating  for  words  to  convey  his 
meaning.  At  last  he  said  :  "  Got  your  father  any 
notice,  at  any  time  since  the  Americans  took  the 
country,  —  notice  to  appear  before  a  court,  or  any 
thing  about  a  title  to  the  land  ?  " 

"  No,  Father,"  replied  Alessandro. 

"  There  has  to  be  some  such  paper,  as  I  understand 
their  laws,"  continued  the  monk ;  "  some  notice,  before 
any  steps  can  be  taken  to  remove  Indians  from  an 
estate.  It  must  be  done  according  to  the  law,  in  the 
courts.  If  you  have  had  no  such  notice,  you  are  not 
in  danger." 

"  But,  Father,"  persisted  Alessandro,  "  how  could 
there  be  a  law  to  take  away  from  us  the  land  which 
the  Senor  Valdez  gave  us  forever  ?  " 

"  Gave  he  to  you  any  paper,  any  writing  to  show  it  ?" 

"  No,  no  paper  ;  but  it  is  marked  in  red  lines  on 
the  map.  It  was  marked  off  by  Jose  Bamirez,  of 
Los  Angeles,  when  they  marked  all  the  boundaries 
of  Senor  Valdez's  estate.  They  had  many  instru 
ments  of  brass  and  wood  to  measure  with,  and  a  long 
chain,  very  heavy,  which  I  helped  them  carry.  I 
myself  saw  it  marked  on  the  map.  They  all  slept  in 
my  father's  house, —  Senor  Valdez,  and  Eamirez,  and 
the  man  who  made  the  measures.  He  hired  one  of 
our  men  to  carry  his  instruments,  and  I  went  to  help, 
for  I  wished  to  see  how  it  was  done ;  but  I  could 
understand  nothing,  and  Jose  told  me  a  man  must 
study  many  years  to  learn  the  way  of  it.  It  seemed 
to  me  our  way,  by  the  stones,  was  much  better.  But 
I  know  it  is  all  marked  on  the  map,  for  it  was  with 
a  red  line  ;  and  my  father  understood  it,  and  Jose 
liamirez  and  Senor  Valdez  both  pointed  to  it  with 
their  finger,  and  they  said,  '  All  this  here  is  your  land, 
Pablo,  always.'  I  do  not  think  my  father  need  fear, 
do  you  ? " 
"  I  hope  not,"  replied  Father  Salvierderra,  cautiously ; 


00  RAMON  A. 

"  but  since  the  way  that  all  the  lands  of  the  Missions 
have  been  taken  away,  I  have  small  faith  in  the  hon 
esty  of.  the  Americans.  I  think  they  will  take  all 
that  they  can.  The  Church  has  suffered  terrible  loss 
at  their  hands." 

"  That  is  what  my  father  says,"  replied  Alessandro. 
"  He  says,  '  Look  at  San  Luis  Bey  !  Nothing  but  the 
garden  and  orchard  left,  of  all  their  vast  lands  where 
fchey  used  to  pasture  thirty  thousand  sheep.  If  the 
Church  and  the  Fathers  could  not  keep  their  lands, 
what  can  we  Indians  do  ? '  That  is  what  my  father 
says." 

"  True,  true  !  "  said  the  monk,  as  he  turned  into  the 
door  of  the  room  where  Juan  Ca.n  lay  on  his  narrow 
bed,  longing  yet  fearing  to  see  Father  Salvierderra's 
face  coming  in.  "  We  are  all  alike  helpless  in  their 
hands,  Alessandro.  They  possess  the  country,  and 
can  make  what  laws  they  please.  We  can  only  say, 
'God's  will  be  done ;'"  and  he  crossed  himself  de 
voutly,  repeating  the  words  twice. 

Alessandro  did  the  same,  and  with  a  truly  devout 
spirit,  for  he  was  full  of  veneration  for  the  Fathers  and 
their  teachings ;  but  as  he  walked  on  towards  the  shear 
ing-shed  he  thought : "  Then,  again,  how  can  it  be  God's 
will  that  wrong  be  done  ?  It  cannot  be  God's  will  that 
one  man  should  steal  from  another  all  he  has.  That 
would  make  God  no  better  than  a  thief,  it  looks  to  me. 
But  how  can  it  happen,  if  it  is  not  God's  will  ? " 

It  does  not  need  that  one  be  educated,  to  see  the 
logic  in  this  formula.  Generations  of  the  oppressed 
and  despoiled,  before  Alessandro,  had  grappled  with 
the  problem  in  one  shape  or  another. 

At  the  shearing-shed,  Alessandro  found  his  men  in 
confusion  and  ill-humor.  The  shearing  had  been  over 
and  done  by  ten  in  the  morning,  and  why  were  they 
not  on  their  way  to  the  Ortega's  ?  Waiting  all  day,  — 
it  was  now  near  sunset, — with  nothing  to  do,  and  still 


RAMONA.  91 

worse  with  not  much  of  anything  to  cat,  had  made 
them  all  cross  ;  and  no  wonder.  The  economical  Juan 
Can,  finding  that  the  work  would  be  done  by  ten,  and 
supposing  they  would  be  off  before  noon,  had  ordered 
only  two  sheep  killed  for  them  the  day  before,  and 
the  mutton  was  all  gone,  and  old  Marda,  getting  her 
cue  from  Juan,  had  cooked  no  more  frijoles  than  the 
family  needed  themselves ;  so  the  poor  shearers  had 
indeed  had  a  sorry  day  of  it,  in  no  wise  alleviated  either 
by  the  reports  brought  from  time  to  time  that  their 
captain  was  lying  on  the  ground,  face  down,  under 
Senor  Felipe's  window,  and  must  not  be  spoken  to. 

It  was  not  a  propitious  moment  for  Alessaudro  to 
make  the  announcement  of  his  purpose  to  leave  the 
band ;  but  he  made  a  clean  breast  of  it  in  few  words, 
and  diplomatically  diverted  all  resentment  from  him 
self  by  setting  them  immediately  to  voting  for  a  new 
captain  to  take  his  place  for  the  remainder  of  the 
season. 

"  Very  well !  "  they  said  hotly ;  "  captain  for  this 
year,  captain  for  next,  too  !  "  It  was  n't  so  easy  to  step 
out  and  in  again  of  the  captaincy  of  the  shearers  ! 

"  All  right,"  said  Alessandro ;  "  please  yourselves  ! 
It  is  all  the  same  to  me.  But  here  I  am  going  to 
stay  for  the  present.  Father  Salvierderra  wishes  it." 

"  Oh,  if  the  Father  wishes  it,  that  is  different ! "  "  Ah, 
that  alters  the  case  ! "  "  Alessandro  is  right ! "  came  up 
in  confused  murmur  from  the  appeased  crowd.  They 
were  all  good  Catholics,  every  one  of  the  Temecula 
men,  and  would  never  think  of  going  against  the 
Father's  orders.  But  when  they  understood  that 
Alessandro's  intention  was  to  remain  until  Juan 
Canito's  leg  should  be  well  enough  for  him  to  go 
about  again,  fresh  grumblings  began.  That  would 
not  do.  It  would  be  all  summer.  Alessandro  must 
be  at  home  for  the  Saint  Juan's  Day  fete,  in  mid 
summer,  —  no  doing  anything  without  Alessandro 


92  RAM  ON  A. 

then.  What  was  he  thinking  of  ?  Not  of  the  mid 
summer  fete,  that  was  certain,  when  he  promised  to 
stay  as  long  as  the  Senorita  Ramona  should  need 
him.  Alessandro  had  remembered  nothing  except 
the  Senorita's  voice,  while  she  was  speaking  to  him. 
If  he  had  had  a  hundred  engagements  for  the  sum 
mer,  he  would  have  forgotten  them  all.  Now  that  he 
was  reminded  of  the  midsummer  fete,  it  must  be 
confessed  he  was  for  a  moment  dismayed  at  the  recol 
lection  ;  for  that  was  a  time  when,  as  he  well  knew, 
his  father  could  not  do  without  his  help.  There  were 
sometimes  a  thousand  Indians  at  this  fete,  and  dis 
orderly  whites  took  advantage  of  the  occasion  to  sell 
whiskey  and  encourage  all  sorts  of  license  and  dis 
turbance.  Yes,  Alessandro's  clear  path  of  duty  lay 
at  Temecula  when  that  fete  came  off.  That  was 
certain. 

"  I  will  manage  to  be  at  home  then,"  he  said.  "  If 
I  am  not  through  here  by  that  time,  I  will  at  least 
come  for  the  fete.  That  you  may  depend  on." 

The  voting  for  the  new  captain  did  not  take  long. 
There  was,  in  fact,  but  one  man  in  the  band  fit  for  the 
office.  That  was  Fernando,  the  only  old  man  in  the 
band ;  all  the  rest  were  young  men  under  thirty,  or 
boys.  Fernando  had  been  captain  for  several  years,  but 
had  himself  begged,  two  years  ago,  that  the  band  would 
elect  Alessandro  in  his  place.  He  was  getting  old,  and 
he  did  not  like  to  have  to  sit  up  and  walk  about  the  first 
half  of  every  night,  to  see  that  the  shearers  were  not 
gambling  away  all  their  money  at  cards ;  he  preferred 
to  roll  himself  up  in  his  blanket  at  sunset  and  sleep 
till  dawn  the  next  morning.  But  just  for  these  few 
remaining  weeks  he  had  no  objection  to  taking  the 
office  again.  And  Alessandro  was  right,  entirely  right, 
in  remaining ;  they  ought  all  to  see  that,  Fernando 
said  ;  and  his  word  had  great  weight  with  the  men. 

The  Senora  Moreno,  he  reminded  them,  had  always 


RAMONA.  93 

been  a  good  friend  of  theirs,  and  had  said  that  so  long 
as  she  had  sheep  to  shear,  the  Temecula  shearers 
should  do  it ;  and  it  would  be  very  ungrateful  now  if 
they  did  not  do  all  they  could  to  help  her  in  her  need. 

The  blankets  were  rolled  up,  the  saddles  collected, 
the  ponies  caught  and  driven  up  to  the  shed,  when 
Eamona  and  Margarita  were  seen  coming  at  full  speed 
from  the  house. 

"  Alessandro  !  Alessandro !"  cried  Eamona,  out  of 
breath,  "  I  have  only  just  now  heard  that  the  men  have 
nad  no  dinner  to-day.  I  am  ashamed  ;  but  you  know 
it  would  not  have  happened  except  for  the  sickness  in 
the  house.  Everybody  thought  they  were  going  away 
this  morning.  Now  they  must  have  a  good  supper 
before  they  go.  It  is  already  cooking.  Tell  them  to 
wait." 

Those  of  the  men  who  understood  the  Spanish  lan 
guage,  in  which  Eamona  spoke,  translated  it  to  those 
who  did  not,  and  there  was  a  cordial  outburst  of  thanks 
to  the  Senorita  from  all  lips.  All  were  only  too  ready 
to  wait  for  the  supper.  Their  haste  to  begin  on  the 
Ortega  sheep-shearing  had  suddenly  faded  from  their 
minds.  Only  Alessandro  hesitated. 

"  It  is  a  good  six  hours'  ride  to  Ortega's,"  he  said 
to  the  men.  "  You  '11  be  late  in,  if  you  do  not  start 
now." 

"  Supper  will  be  ready  in  an  hour,"  said  Eamona. 
"  Please  let  them  stay ;  one  hour  can't  make  any  differ 
ence." 

Alessandro  smiled.  "It  will  take  nearer  two, 
.Senorita,  before  they  are  off,"  he  said ;  "  but  it  shall 
',be  as  you  wish,  and  many  thanks  to  you,  Senorita, 
for  thinking  of  it." 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  think  of  it  myself,"  said  Eamona. 
"  It  was  Margarita,  here,  who  came  and  told  me.  She 
knew  we  would  be  ashamed  to  have  the  shearers  go 
away  hungry.  I  am  afraid  they  are  very  hungry 


94  RAMON  A. 

indeed,"  she  added  ruefully.  "  It  must  be  dreadful  to 
go  a  whole  day  without  anything  to  eat ;  they  had 
their  breakfast  soon  after  sunrise,  did  they  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  Senorita,"  answered  Alessandro,  "  but  that  is 
not  long ;  one  can  do  without  food  very  well  for  one 
day.  I  often  do." 

"  Often  ! "  exclaimed  Ramona ;  "  but  why  should  you 
do  that  ?  "  Then  suddenly  bethinking  herself,  she 
said  in  her  heart,  "  Oh,  what  a  thoughtless,  question ! 
Can  it  be  they  are  so  poor  as  that  ? "  And  to  save 
Alessandro  from  replying,  she  set  off  on  a  run  for  the 
house,  saying,  "  Come,  come,  Margarita,  we  must  go 
and  help  at  the  supper." 

"  Will  the  Senorita  let  me  help,  too,"  asked  Alessan 
dro,  wondering  at  his  own  boldness,  — "  if  there  is  any 
thing  I  can  do  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  cried,  "  there  is  not.  Yes,  there  is, 
too.  You  can  help  carry  the  things  down  to  the 
booth ;  for  we  are  short  of  hands  now,  with  Juan  Can 
in  bed,  and  Luigo  gone  to  Ventura  for  the  doctor. 
You  and  some  of  your  men  might  carry  all  the  sup 
per  over.  I  '11  call  you  when  we  are  ready." 

The  men  sat  down  in  a  group  and  waited  content 
edly,  smoking,  chatting,  and  laughing.  Alessandro 
walked  up  and  down  between  the  kitchen  and  the 
shed.  He  could  hear  the  sounds  of  rattling  dishes, 
jingling  spoons,  frying,  pouring  water.  Savory  smells 
began  to  be  wafted  out.  Evidently  old  Marda  meant 
to  atone  for  the  shortcoming  of  the  noon.  Juan  Can, 
in  his  bed,  also  heard  and  smelled  what  was  going  on. 
"  May  the  fiends  get  me,"  he  growled,  "  if  that  waste 
ful  old  hussy  is  n't  getting  up  a  feast  for  those  beasts 
of  Indians  !  There  's  mutton  and  onions,  and  peppers 
stewing,  and  potatoes,  I  '11  be  bound,  and  God  knows 
what  else,  for  beggars  that  are  only  too  thankful  to 
get  a  handful  of  roasted  wheat  or  a  bowl  of  acorn 
porridge  at  home.  Well,  they'll  have  to  say  they 


RAMONA.  95 

were  well  feasted  at  the  Moreno's,  —  that 's  one  com 
fort.  I  wonder  if  Margarita  '11  think  I  am  worthy 
of  tasting  that  stew  !  San  Jose  !  but  it  smells  well ! 
Margarita !  Margarita ! "  he  called  at  top  of  his, 
lungs ;  but  Margarita  did  not  hear.  She  was  ab 
sorbed  in  her  duties  in  the  kitchen ;  and  having 
already  taken  Juan  at  sundown  a  bowl  of  the  good 
broth  which  the  doctor  had  said  was  the  only  sort 
of  food  he  must  eat  for  two  weeks,  she  had  dismissed 
him  from  her  mind  for  the  night.  Moreover,  Mar 
garita  was  absent-minded  to-night.  She  was  more 
than  half  in  love  with  the  handsome  Alessandro,  who, 
when  he  had  been  on  the  ranch  the  year  before,  had 
danced  with  her,  and  said  many  a  light  pleasant  word 
to  her,  evenings,  as  a  young  man  may ;  and  what 
ailed  him  now,  that  he  seemed,  when  he  saw  her,  as  if 
she  were  no  more  than  a  transparent  shade,  through 
which  he  stared  at  the  sky  behind  her,  she  did  not  know. 
Serior  Felipe's  illness,  she  thought,  and  the  general 
misery  and  confusion,  had  perhaps  put  everything  else 
out  of  his  head  ;  but  now  he  was  going  to  stay,  and 
it  would  be  good  fun  having  him  there,  if  only  Sefior 
Felipe  got  well,  which  he  seemed  like  to  do.  And  as 
Margarita  flew  about,  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  she 
cast  frequent  glances  at  the  tall  straight  figure  pacing 
up  and  down  in  the  dusk  outside. 

Alessandro  did  not  see  her.  He  did  not  see  any 
thing.  He  was  looking  off  at  the  sunset,  and  listen 
ing.  Ramona  had  said,  "  I  will  call  you  when  we  are 
ready."  But  she  did  not  do  as  she  said.  She  told 
Margarita  to  call. 

"  Bun,  Margarita,"  she  said.  "  All  is  ready  now ;' 
see  if  Alessandro  is  in  sight.  Call  him  to  come  and 
take  the  things." 

So  it  was  Margarita's  voice,  and  not  Eamona's, 
that  called,  "  Alessaudro !  Alessandro  !  the  supper  is 
ready." 


96  RAMON  A. 

But  it  was  Eamona  who,  when  Alessandro  reached 
the  doorway,  stood  there  holding  in  her  arms  a  huge 
smoking  platter  of  the  stew  which  had  so  roused  poor 
Juan  Can's  longings  ;  and  it  was  Eamona  who  said, 
as  she  gave  it  into  Alessandro's  hands,  "  Take  care, 
Alessandro,  it  is  very  full.  The  gravy  will  run  over  if 
you  are  not  careful.  You  are  not  used  to  waiting  on 
table ; "  and  as  she  said  it,  she  smiled  full  into  Ales- 
saudro's  eyes,  —  a  little  flitting,  gentle,  friendly  smile, 
which  went  near  to  making  him  drop  the  platter, 
mutton,  gravy,  and  all,  then  and  there,  at  her  feet. 

The  men  ate  fast  and  greedily,  and  it  was  not,  after 
all,  much  more  than  an  hour,  when,  full  fed  and 
happy,  they  were  mounting  their  horses  to  set  off.  At 
the  last  moment  Alessaudro  drew  one  of  them  aside. 
"  Jose,"  he  said,  "  whose  horse  is  the  faster,  yours  or 
Antonio's  ?  " 

"  Mine,"  promptly  replied  Jose.  "  Mine,  by  a  great 
deal.  I  will  run  Antonio  any  day  he  likes." 

Alessandro  knew  this  as  well  before  asking  as  after. 
But  Alessandro  was  learning  a  great  many  things  in 
these  days,  among  other  things  a  little  diplomacy. 
He  wanted  a  man  to  ride  at  the  swiftest  to  Temecula 
and  back.  He  knew  that  Jose's  pony  could  go  like  the 
wind.  He  also  knew  that  there  was  a  perpetual  feud 
of  rivalry  between  him  and  Antonio,  in  matter  of 
the  fleetness  of  their  respective  ponies.  So,  having 
chosen  Jose  for  his  messenger,  he  went  thus  to  work 
to  make  sure  that  he  would  urge  his  horse  to  its 
utmost  speed. 

Whispering  in  Jose's  ear  a  few  words,  he  said, 
"  Will  you  go  ?  I  will  pay  you  for  the  time,  all  you 
could  earn  at  the  shearing." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Jose,  elated.  "  You  will  see  me 
back  to-morrow  by  sundown." 

"  Not  earlier  ? "  asked  Alessandro.  "  I  thought  by 
noon." 


ItAMOMA.  97 

"  Well,  by  noon  be  it,  then,"  said  Jose.  "  The  horse 
can  do  it." 

"  Have  great  care  ! "  said  Alessandro. 

"  That  will  I,"  replied  Jose"  ;  and  giving  his  horse's 
sides  a  sharp  punch  with  his  knees,  set  off  at  full 
gallop  westward. 

"  I  have  sent  Jose  with  a  message  to  Temecula," 
said  Alessandro,  walking  up  to  Fernando.  "  He  will  be 
back  here  to-morrow  noon,  and  join  you  at  the  Ortega's 
the  next  morning." 

"  Back  here  by  noon  to-morrow  ! "  exclaimed  Fer 
nando.  "  Not  unless  he  kills  his  horse ! " 

"  That  was  what  he  said, "  replied  Alessandro,  non 
chalantly. 

"Easy  enough,  too !"  cried  Antonio,  riding  up  on  his 
little  dun  mare.  "  I  'd  go  in  less  time  than  that,  on 
this  mare.  Jose's  is  no  match  for  her,  and  never  was. 
Why  did  you  not  send  me,  Alessandro  ? " 

"  Is  your  horse  really  faster  than  Jose's  ?"  said  Ales 
sandro.  "  Then  I  wish  I  had  sent  you.  I  '11  send  you 
next  time." 


VII. 

IT  was  strange  to  see  how  quickly  and  naturally 
Alessandro  fitted  into  his  place  in  the  household. 
How  tangles  straightened  out,  and  rough  places  became 
smooth,  as  he  quietly  took  matters  in  hand.  Luckily, 
old  Juan  Can  had  always  liked  him,  and  felt  a  great 
sense  of  relief  at  the  news  of  his  staying  on.  Not  a 
wholly  unselfish  relief,  perhaps,  for  since  his  accident 
Juan  had  not  been  without  fears  that  he  might  lose 
his  place  altogether ;  there  was  a  Mexican  he  knew, 
who  had  long  been  scheming  to  get  the  situation,  and 
had  once  openly  boasted  at  a  fandango,  where  he  was 
dancing  with  Anita,  that  as  soon  as  that  superannuated 
old  fool,  Juan  Canito,  was  out  of  the  way,  he  meant 
to  be  the  Senora  Moreno's  head  shepherd  himself.  To 
have  seen  this  man  in  authority  on  the  place,  would 
have  driven  Juan  out  of  his  mind. 

But  the  gentle  Alessandro,  only  an  Indian,  • —  and 
of  course  the  Senora  would  never  think  of  putting  an 
Indian  permanently  in  so  responsible  a  position  on  the 
estate,  —  it  was  exactly  as  Juan  would  have  wished  ; 
and  he  fraternized  with  Alessandro  heartily  from  the 
outset ;  kept  him  in  his  room  by  the  hour,  giving  him 
hundreds  of  long-winded  directions  and  explanations 
about  things  which,  if  only  he  had  known  it,  Ales 
sandro  understood  far  better  than  he  did. 

Alessandro's  father  had  managed  the  Mission  flocks 
and  herds  at  San  Luis  Eey  for  twenty  years  ;  few 
were  as  skilful  as  he;  he  himself  owned  nearly  as 
many  sheep  as  the  Senora  Moreno  ;  but  this  Juan  did 
not  know.  Neither  did  he  realize  that  Alessaudro, 


RAMONA.  99 

as  Chief  Pablo's  son,  had  a  position  of  his  own  not 
without  dignity  and  authority.  To  Juan,  an  Indian 
was  an  Indian,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it.  The  gen 
tle  courteousriess  of  Alessaudro's  manner,  his  quiet 
behavior,  were  all  set  down  in  Juan's  mind  to  the  score 
of  the  boy's  native  amiability  and  sweetness.  If  Juan 
had  been  told  that  the  Senor  Felipe  himself  had  not 
been  more  carefully  trained  in  all  precepts  of  kind 
liness,  honorable  dealing,  and  polite  usage,  by  the 
Senora,  his  mother,  than  had  Alessandro  by  his  father, 
he  would  have  opened  his  eyes  wide.  The  stand 
ards  of  the  two  parents  were  different,  to  be  sure ; 
but  the  advantage  could  not  be  shown  to  be  entirely 
on  the  Senora' s  side.  There  were  many  things  that 
Felipe  knew,  of  which  Alessandro  was  profoundly  igno 
rant  ;  but  there  were  others  in  which  Alessandro  could 
have  taught  Felipe ;  and  when  it  came  to  the  things 
of  the  soul,  and  of  honor,  Alessandro's  plane  was  the 
higher  of  the  two.  Felipe  was  a  fair-minded,  honor 
able  man,  as  men  go ;  but  circumstance  and  oppor 
tunity  would  have  a  hold  on  him  they  could  never 
get  on  Alessandro.  Alessandro  would  not  lie  ;  Felipe 
might.  Alessandro  was  by  nature  full  of  veneration 
and  the  religious  instinct ;  Felipe  had  been  trained 
into  being  a  good  Catholic.  But  they  were  both 
singularly  pure-minded,  open-hearted,  generous-souled 
young  men,  and  destined,  by  the  strange  chance  which 
had  thus  brought  them  into  familiar  relations,  to 
become  strongly  attached  to  each  other.  After  the 
day  on  which  the  madness  of  Felipe's  fever  had  been 
so  miraculously  soothed  and  controlled  by  Alessandro's 
singing,  he  was  never  again  wildly  delirious.  When 
he  waked  in  the  night  from  that  first  long  sleep,  he 
was,  as  Father  Salvierderra  had  predicted,  in  his  right 
mind ;  knew  every  one,  and  asked  rational  questions. 
But  the  over-heated  and  excited  brain  did  not  for 
some  time  wholly  resume  normal  action.  At  inter- 


100  RAMON  A. 

vals  he  wandered,  especially  when  just  arousing  from 
sleep ;  and,  strangely  enough,  it  was  always  for  Ales- 
sandro  that  he  called  at  these  times,  and  it  seemed 
always  to  be  music  that  he  craved.  He  recollected 
Alessandro's  having  sung  to  him  that  first  night. 
"  I  was  not  so  crazy  as  you  all  thought,"  he  said.  "  I 
knew  a  great  many  of  the  things  I  said,  but  I  could  n't 
help  saying  them ;  and  I  heard  Eamona  ask  Alessan- 
dro  to  sing ;  and  when  he  began,  I  remember  I  thought 
the  Virgin  had  reached  down  and  put  her  hand  on 
my  head  and  cooled  it." 

On  the  second  evening,  the  first  after  the  shearers 
had  left,  Alessaudro,  seeing  Eamona  in  the  veranda, 
went  to  the  foot  of  the  steps,  and  said,  "  Senorita, 
would  Senor  Felipe  like  to  have  me  play  on  the  vio 
lin  to  him  to-night  ? " 

"  Why,  whose  violin  have  you  got  ? "  exclaimed 
Eamona,  astonished. 

"  My  own,  Senorita." 

"  Your  own  !  I  thought  you  said  you  did  not  bring 
it." 

"  Yes,  Senorita,  that  is  true ;  but  I  sent  for  it  last 
night,  and  it  is  here." 

"Sent  to  Ternecula  and  back  already!"  cried 
Eamona. 

"  Yes,  Senorita.  Our  ponies  are  swift  and  strong. 
They  can  go  a  hundred  miles  in  a  day,  and  not  suffer. 
It  was  Jose*  brought  it,  and  he  is  at  the  Ortega's  by 
this  time." 

Eamona's  eyes  glistened.  "I  wish  I  could  have 
thanked  him,"  she  said.  "  You  should  have  let  me 
know.  He  ought  to  have  been  paid  for  going." 

"  I  paid  him,  Senorita ;  he  went  for  me  ; "  said 
Alessandro,  with  a  shade  of  wounded  pride  in  the 
tone,  which  Eamona  should  have  perceived,  but 
did  not,  and  went  on  hurting  the  lover's  heart  still 
more. 


RAMONA.  101 

"  But  it  was  for  us  that  you  sent  for  it,  Alessandro  ; 
the  Senora  would  rather  pay  the  messenger  herself." 

"  It  is  paid,  Senorita.  It  is  nothing.  If  the  Senor 
Felipe  wishes  to  hear  the  violin,  I  will  play ; "  and 
Alessandro  walked  slowly  away. 

Ramona  gazed  after  him.  For  the  first  time,  she 
looked  at  him  with  no  thought  of  his  being  an  Indian, 
—  a  thought  there  had  surely  been  no  need  of  her 
having,  since  his  skin  was  not  a  shade  darker  than 
Felipe's ;  but  so  strong  was  the  race  feeling,  that 
never  till  that  moment  had  she  forgotten  it. 

"  What  a  superb  head,  and  what  a  walk ! "  she 
thought.  Then,  looking  more  observantly,  she  said  : 
"  He  walks  as  if  he  were  offended.  He  did  not  like 
my  offering  to  pay  for  the  messenger.  He  wanted 
to  do  it  for  dear  Felipe.  I  will  tell  Felipe,  and  we 
will  give  him  some  present  when  he  goes  away." 

"Is  n't  he  splendid,  Senorita?"  came  in  a  light 
laughing  tone  from  Margarita's  lips  close  to  her  ear, 
in  the  fond  freedom  of  their  relation.  "  Is  n't  he 
splendid  ?  And  oh,  Senorita,  you  can't  think  how  he 
dances  !  Last  year  I  danced  with  him  every  night ; 
he  has  wings  on  his  feet,  for  all  he  is  so  tall  and  big." 

There  was  a  coquettish  consciousness  in  the  girl's 
tone,  that  was  suddenly,  for  some  unexplained  reason, 
exceedingly  displeasing  to  Eamona.  Drawing  herself 
away,  she  spoke  to  Margarita  in  a  tone  she  had  never 
before  in  her  life  used.  "  It  is  not  fitting  to  speak 
like  that  about  young  men.  The  Senora  would  be 
displeased  if  she  heard  you,"  she  said,  and  walked 
swiftly  away,  leaving  poor  Margarita  as  astounded  as 
if  she  had  got  a  box  on  the  ear. 

She  looked  after  Eamona's  retreating  figure,  then 
after  Alessandro's.  She  had  heard  them  talking  to 
gether  just  before  she  came  up.  Thoroughly  bewil 
dered  and  puzzled,  she  stood  motionless  for  several 
seconds,  reflecting ;  then,  shaking  her  head,  she  ran 


102  RAMON  A, 

away,  trying  to  dismiss  the  harsh  speech  from  her  mind. 
"  Alessandro  must  have  vexed  the  Senorita,"  she 
thought,  "  to  make  her  speak  like  that  to  me."  But 
the  incident  was  not  so  easily  dismissed  from  Marga 
rita's  thoughts.  Many  times  in  the  day  it  recurred  to 
her,  still  a  bewilderment  and  a  puzzle,  as  far  from  solu 
tion  as  ever.  It  was  a  tiny  seed,  whose  name  she  did 
not  dream  of;  but  it  was  dropped  in  soil  where  it 
would  grow  some  day,  —  forcing-house  soil,  and  a  bit 
ter  seed ;  and  when  it  blossomed,  Eamona  would  have 
an  enemy. 

All  unconscious,  equally  of  Margarita's  heart  and 
her  own,  Eamona  proceeded  to  Felipe's  room.  Felipe 
was  sleeping,  the  Senora  sitting  by  his  side,  as  she 
had  sat  for  days  and  nights,  —  her  dark  face  looking 
thinner  and  more  drawn  each  day  ;  her  hair  looking 
even  whiter,  if  that  could  be ;  and  her  voice  growing 
hollow  from  faintness  and  sorrow. 

"  Dear  Senora,"  whispered  Eamona,  "  do  go  out  for 
a  few  moments  while  he  sleeps,  and  let  me  watch,  — 
just  on  the  walk  in  front  of  the  veranda.  The  sun  is 
still  lying  there,  bright  and  warm.  You  will  be  ill  if 
you  do  not  have  air." 

The  Senora  shook  her  head.  "  My  place  is  here," 
she  answered,  speaking  in  a  dry,  hard  tone.  Sympa 
thy  was  hateful  to  the  Senora  Moreno ;  she  wished 
neither  to  give  it  nor  take  it.  "I  shall  not  leave 
him.  I  do  not  need  the  air." 

Eamona  had  a  cloth-of-gold  rose  in  her  hand.  The 
veranda  eaves  were  now  shaded  with  them,  hang 
ing  down  like  a  thick  fringe  of  golden  tassels.  It 
|was  the  rose  Felipe  loved  best.  Stooping,  she  laid  it 
'on  the  bed,  near  Felipe's  head.  "  He  will  like  to  see 
it  when  he  wakes,"  she  said. 

The  Senora  seized  it,  and  flung  it  far  out  in  the 
room.  "  Take  it  away  !  Flowers  are  poison  when  one 
is  ill,"  she  said  coldly.  "  Have  I  never  told  you  that  ? " 


RAMON  A.  103 

"No,  Seiiora,"  replied  Eamona,  meekly;  and  she 
glanced  involuntarily  at  the  saucer  of  musk  which 
the  Senora  kept  on  the  tahle  close  to  Felipe's  pillow. 

"The  musk  is  different,"  said  the  Seiiora,  seeing 
the  glance.  "  Musk  is  a  medicine ;  it  revives." 

Eamona  knew,  but  she  would  have  never  dared  to 
say,  that  Felipe  hated  musk.  Many  times  he  had  said 
to  her  how  he  hated  the  odor ;  but  his  mother  was  so 
fond  of  it,  that  it  must  always  be  that  the  veranda  and 
the  house  would  be  full  of  it.  Eamona  hated  it  too. 
At  times  it  made  her  faint,  with  a  deadly  faintness. 
But  neither  she  nor  Felipe  would  have  confessed  as 
much  to  the  Senora ;  and  if  they  had,  she  would 
have  thought  it  all  a  fancy. 

"  Shall  I  stay  ? "  asked  Eamona,  gently. 

"  As  you  please,"  replied  the  Senora.  The  simple 
presence  of  Eamona  irked  her  now  with  a  feeling  she 
did  not  pretend  to  analyze,  and  would  have  been 
terrified  at  if  she  had.  She  would  not  have  dared  to 
say  to  herself,  in  plain  words:  "Why  is  that  girl 
well  and  strong,  and  my  Felipe  lying  here  like  to 
die !  If  Felipe  dies,  I  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  her. 
What  is  she,  to  be  preserved  of  the  saints ! " 

But  that,  or  something  like  it,  was  what  she  felt 
whenever  Eamona  entered  the  room;  still  more,  when 
ever  she  assisted  in  ministering  to  Felipe.  If  it  had 
been  possible,  the  Sefiora  would  have  had  no  hands 
but  her  own  do  aught  for  her  boy.  Even  tears  from 
Eamona  sometimes  irritated  her.  "What  does  she 
know  about  loving  Felipe  I  He  is  nothing  to  her ! " 
thought  the  Senora,  strangely  mistaken,  strangely 
blind,  strangely  forgetting  how  feeble  is  the  tie  of 
blood  in  the  veins  by  the  side  of  love  in  the  heart. 

If  into  this  fiery  soul  of  the  Senora's  could  have 
been  dropped  one  second's  knowledge  of  the  relative 
positions  she  and  Eamona  already  occupied  in  Felipe's 
heart,  she  would,  on  the  spot,  have  either  died  herself, 


104  RAMON  A. 

or  have  slain  Ramona,  one  or  the  other.  But  no  such 
knowledge  was  possible ;  no  such  idea  could  have 
found  entrance  into  the  Senora's  mind.  A  revelation 
from  Heaven  of  it  could  hardly  have  reached  even 
her  ears.  So  impenetrable  are  the  veils  which,  for 
tunately  for  us  all,  are  forever  held  by  viewless 
hands  between  us  and  the  nearest  and  closest  of  our 
daily  companions. 

At  twilight  of  this  day  Felipe  was  restless  and 
feverish  again.  He  had  dozed  at  intervals  all  day 
lung,  but  had  had  no  refreshing  sleep. 

"  Send  for  Alessandro,"  he  said.  "  Let  him  come 
and  sing  to  me." 

"  He  has  his  violin  now ;  he  can  play,  if  you  would 
like  that  better,"  said  Eamona ;  and  she  related  what 
Alessandro  had  told  her  of  the  messenger's  having 
ridden  to  Temecula  and  back  in  a  night  and  half  a 
day,  to  bring  it. 

"  I  wanted  to  pay  the  man,"  she  said  ;  "  I  knew  of 
course  your  mother  would  wish  to  reward  him.  But 
I  fancy  Alessandro  was  offended.  He  answered  me 
shortly  that  it  was  paid,  and  it  was  nothing." 

"  You  could  n't  have  offended  him  more,"  said 
Felipe.  "  What  a  pity !  He  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer 
himself,  that  Alessandro.  You  know  his  father  has 
always  been  the  head  of  their  band ;  in  fact,  he  has 
authority  over  several  bands ;  General,  they  call  it  now, 
since  they  got  the  title  from  the  Americans  ;  they  used 
to  call  it  Chief,  and  until  Father  Peyri  left  San  Luis 
Eey,  Pablo  was  in  charge  of  all  the  sheep,  and  general 
steward  and  paymaster.  Father  Peyri  trusted  him 
with  everything  ;  I  Ve  heard  he  would  leave  boxes 
full  of  uncounted  gold  in  Pablo's  charge  to  pay  off 
the  Indians.  Pablo  reads  and  writes,  and  is  very  well 
off;  he  has  as  many  sheep  as  we  have,  I  fancy ! " 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Eamona,  astonished.  "  They 
all  look  as  if  they  were  poor." 


RAMONA.  105 

"  Oh,  well,  so  they  are,"  replied  Felipe,  "  compared 
with  us;  but  one  reason  is,  they  share  everything 
with  each  other.  Old  Pablo  feeds  and  supports  half 
his  village,  they  say.  So  long  as  he  has  anything,  he 
will  never  see  one  of  his  Indians  hungry." 

"  How  generous  ! "  warmly  exclaimed  Eamona ;  "  I 
think  they  are  better  than  we  are,  Felipe  ! " 

"I  think  so,  too,"  said  Felipe.  "That's  what  I 
have  always  said.  The  Indians  are  the  most  generous 
people  in  the  world.  Of  course  they  have  learned  it 
partly  from  us  ;  but  they  were  very  much  so  when  the 
Fathers  first  came  here.  You  ask  Father  Salvierderra 
some  day.  He  has  read  all  Father  Junipero's  and 
Father  Crespi's  diaries,  and  he  says  it  is  wonderful  how 
the  wild  savages  gave  food  to  every  one  who  came." 

"Felipe!  you  are  talking  too  much,"  said  the 
Senora's  voice,  in  the  doorway ;  and  as  she  spoke 
she  looked  reproachfully  at  Eamona.  If  she  had 
said  in  words,  "  See  how  unfit  you  are  to  be  trusted 
with  Felipe.  No  wonder  I  do  not  leave  the  room 
except  when  I  must ! "  her  meaning  could  not  have 
been  plainer.  Eamona  felt  it  keenly,  and  not  with 
out  some  misgiving  that  it  was  deserved. 

"  Oh,  dear  Felipe,  has  it  hurt  you  ? "  she  said  tim 
idly;  and  to  the  Senora,  "Indeed,  Senora,  he  has 
been  speaking  but  a  very  few  moments,  very  low." 

"  Go  call  Alessandro,  Ramona,  will  you  ? "  said 
Felipe.  "Tell  him  to  bring  his  violin.  I  think  I 
will  go  to  sleep  if  he  plays." 

A  long  search  Eamona  had  for  Alessandro.  Every 
body  had  seen  him  a  few  minutes  ago,  but  nobody 
knew  where  he  was  now.  Kitchens,  sheepfolds, 
vineyards,  orchards,  Juan  Can's  bedchamber,  —  Ea 
mona  searched  them  all  in  vain.  At  last,  standing 
at  the  foot  of  the  veranda  steps,  and  looking  down 
the  garden,  she  thought  she  saw  figures  moving  under 
the  willows  by  the  washing-stones. 


106  RAMONA. 

"  Can  he  be  there  ? "  she  said.  "  What  can  he  be 
doing  there  ?  Who  is  it  with  him  ? "  And  she  walked 
down  the  path,  calling,  "  Alessandro  !  Alessandro  ! " 

At  the  first  sound,  Alessandro  sprang  from  the 
side  of  his  companion,  and  almost  before  the  second 
syllables  had  been  said,  was  standing  face  to  face 
with  Ramona. 

"Here  I  am,  Senorita.  Does  Senor  Felipe  want 
me  ?  I  have  my  violin  here.  I  thought  perhaps 
he  would  like  to  have  me  play  to  him  in  the  twi 
light." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Eamona,  "  he  wishes  to  hear  you.  I 
have  been  looking  everywhere  for  you."  As  she 
spoke,  she  was  half  unconsciously  peering  beyond 
into  the  dusk,  to  see  whose  figure  it  was,  slowly 
moving  by  the  brook. 

Nothing  escaped  Alessandro's  notice  where  Ea 
mona  was  concerned.  "  It  is  Margarita,"  he  said 
instantly.  "Does  the  Senorita  want  her?  Shall  I 
run  and  call  her  ? " 

"No,"  said  Eamona,  again  displeased,  she  knew 
not  why,  nor  in  fact  knew  she  was  displeased ;  "  no, 
I  was  not  looking  for  her.  What  is  she  doing- 
there  ? " 

"  She  is  washing,"  replied  Alessandro,  innocently. 

"  Washing  at  this  time  of  day  ! "  thought  Eamona, 
severely.  "  A  mere  pretext.  I  shall  watch  Margarita. 
The  Seiiora  would  never  allow  this  sort  of  thing." 
And  as  she  walked  back  to  the  house  by  Alessandro's 
side,  she  meditated  whether  or  no  she  would  herself 
speak  to  Margarita  on  the  subject  in  the  morning. 

Margarita,  in  the  mean  time,  was  also  having  her 
season  of  reflections  not  the  pleasantest.  As  she 
soused  her  aprons  up  and  down  in  the  water,  she  said 
to  herself,  "  I  may  as  well  finish  them  now  I  am 
here.  How  provoking!  I've  no  more  than  got  a 
word  with  him,  than  she  must  come,  calling  hirn 


RAMONA.  107 

away.  And  he  flies  as  if  he  was  shot  on  an  arrow, 
at  the  first  word.  1  'd  like  to  know  what 's  come 
over  the  man,  to  be  so  different.  If  I  could  ever  get 
a  good  half-hour  with  him  alone,  I  'd  soon  find  out. 
Oh,  but  his  eyes  go  through  me,  through  and  through 
me  !  I  know  he  's  an  Indian,  but  what  do  I  care  for, 
that.  He  's  a  million  times  handsomer  than  Seiior 
Felipe.  And  Juan  Jose  said  the  other  day  he  'd 
make  enough  better  head  shepherd  than  old  Juan 
Can,  if  Senor  Felipe  'd  only  see  it ;  and  why 
should  n't  he  get  to  see  it,  if  Alessandro  's  here  all 
summer  ?  "  And  before  the  aprons  were  done,  Mar 
garita  had  a  fine  air-castle  up  :  herself  and  Alessandro 
married,  a  nice  little  house,  children  playing  in  the 
sunshine  below  the  artichoke-patch,  she  herself  still 
working  for  the  Senora.  "And  the  Senorita  will 
perhaps  marry  Senor  Felipe,"  she  added,  her  thoughts 
moving  more  hesitatingly.  "  He  worships  the  ground 
she  walks  on.  Anybody  with  quarter  of  a  blind  eye 
can  see  that;  but  maybe  the  Senora  would  not  let 
him.  Anyhow,  Senor  Felipe  is  sure  to  have  a  wife, 
and  so  and  so."  It  was  an  innocent,  girlish  castle,  built 
of  sweet  and  natural  longings,  for  which  no  maiden, 
high  or  low,  need  blush;  but  its  foundations  were 
laid  in  sand,  on  which  would  presently  beat  such 
winds  and  floods  as  poor  little  Margarita  never 
dreamed  of. 

The  next  day  Margarita  and  Eamona  both  went 
about  their  day's  business  with  a  secret  purpose  in 
their  hearts.  Margarita  had  made  up  her  mind 
that  before  night  she  would,  by  fair  means  or  foul, 
have  a  good  long  talk  with  Alessandro.  "He  was 
fond  enough  of  me  last  year,  I  know,"  she  said  to 
herself,  recalling  some  of  the  dances  and  the  good 
night  leave-takings  at  that  time.  "  It 's  because  he  is 
so  put  upon  by  everybody  now.  What  with  Juan 
Can  iii  one  bed  sending  for  him  to  prate  to  him  about 


108  RAMON  A. 

the  sheep,  and  Senor  Felipe  in  another  sending  for 
him  to  fiddle  him  to  sleep,  and  all  the  care  of  the 
sheep,  it 's  a  wonder  he 's  not  out  of  his  mind  alto 
gether.  But  I  '11  find  a  chance,  or  make  one,  before 
this  day's  sun  sets.  If  I  can  once  get  a  half-hour 
with  him,  I  'm  not  afraid  after  that ;  I  know  the  way 
it  is  with  men ! "  said  the  confident  Margarita,  who, 
truth  being  told,  it  must  be  admitted,  did  indeed 
know  a  great  deal  about  the  way  it  is  with  men, 
and  could  be  safely  backed,  in  a  fair  field,  with  a 
fair  start,  against  any  girl  of  her  age  and  station  in 
the  country.  So  much  for  Margarita's  purpose,  at  the 
outset  of  a  day  destined  to  be  an  eventful  one  in  her 
life. 

Ramona's  purpose  was  no  less  clear.  She  had 
decided,  after  some  reflection,  that  she  would  not 
speak  to  the  Sefiora  about  Margarita's  having  been 
under  the  willows  with  Alessandro  in  the  previous 
evening,  but  would  watch  her  carefully  and  see 
whether  there  were  any  farther  signs  of  her  attempt 
ing  to  have  clandestine  interviews  with  him. 

This  course  she  adopted,  she  thought,  chiefly  be 
cause  of  her  affection  for  Margarita,  and  her  unwill 
ingness  to  expose  her  to  the  Senora's  displeasure, 
which  would  be  great,  and  terrible  to  bear.  She  was 
also  aware  of  an  unwillingness  to  bring  anything  to 
light  which  would  reflect  ever  so  lightly  upon  Ales 
sandro  in  the  Senora's  estimation.  "  And  he  is  not 
really  to  blame,"  thought  Eamona,  "  if  a  girl  follows 
him  about  and  makes  free  with  him.  She  must  have 
seen  him  at  the  willows,  and  gone  down  there  on 
purpose  to  meet  him,  making  a  pretext  of  the  wash 
ing.  For  she  never  in  this  world  would  have  gone 
to  wash  in  the  dark,  as  he  must  have  known,  if  he 
were  not  a  fool.  He  is  not  the  sort  of  person,  it 
seems  to  me,  to  be  fooling  with  maids.  He  seems  as 
full  of  crave  thought  as  Father  Salvierderra.  If  I  see 


r 
RAMON  A.  109 

anything  amiss  in  Margarita  to-day,  I  shall  speak  to 
her  myself,  kindly  but  tirrnly,  and  tell  her  to  conduct 
herself  more  discreetly." 

Then,  as  the  other  maiden's  had  done,  Eamona's 
thoughts,  being  concentrated  on  Alessandro,  altered 
a  little  from  their  first  key,  and  grew  softer  and  more 
imaginative ;  strangely  enough,  taking  some  of  the 
phrases,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  other  maiden's  mouth. 

"  I  never  saw  such  eyes  as  Alessandro  has,"  she 
said.  "  I  wonder  any  girl  should  make  free  with 
him.  Even  I  myself,  when  he  fixes  his  eyes  on  me, 
feel  a  constraint.  There  is  something  in  them  like 
the  eyes  of  a  saint,  so  solemn,  yet  so  mild.  I  am 
sure  he  is  very  good." 

And  so  the  day  opened  ;  and  if  there  were  abroad 
in  the  valley  that  day  a  demon  of  mischief,  let  loose 
to  tangle  the  skeins  of  human  affairs,  things  could 
not  have  fallen  out  better  for  his  purpose  than  they 
did ;  for  it  was  not  yet  ten  o'clock  of  the  morning, 
when  Eamona,  sitting  at  her  embroidery  in  the  ve 
randa,  half  hid  behind  the  vines,  saw  Alessandro 
going  with  his  priming-knife  in  his  hand  towards  the 
artichoke-patch  at  the  east  of  the  garden,  and  joining 
the  almond  orchard.  "  I  wonder  what  he  is  going 
to  do  there,"  she  thought.  "  He  can't  be  going  to  cut 
willows;"  and  her  eyes  followed  him  till  he  disap 
peared  among  the  trees. 

Eamona  was  not  the  only  one  who  saw  this. 
Margarita,  looking  from  the  east  window  of  Father 
Salvierderra's  room,  saw  the  same  thing.  "  Now  's 
my  chance  ! "  she  said ;  and  throwing  a  white  reboso 
coquettishly  over  her  head,  she  slipped  around  the 
corner  of  the  house.  She  ran  swiftly  in  the  direction 
in  which  Alessandro  had  gone.  The  sound  of  her 
steps  reached  Eamona,  who,  lifting  her  eyes,  took  in 
the  whole  situation  at  a  glance.  There  was  no  pos 
sible  duty,  no  possible  message,  which  would  take 


110  RAMON  A. 

Margarita  there.  Eamona's  cheeks  blazed  with  a  dis 
proportionate  indignation.  But  she  bethought  herself, 
"  Ah,  the  Senora  may  have  sent  her  to  call  Alessan- 
dro !  "  She  rose,  went  to  the  door  of  Felipe's  room, 
and  looked  in.  The  Senora  was  sitting  in  the  chair 
by  Felipe's  bed,  with  her  eyes  closed.  Felipe  was 
dozing.  The  Senora  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked 
inquiringly  at  Eamona. 

"Do  you  know  where  Margarita  is  ?"  said  Eamona. 

"  In  Father  Salvierderra's  room,  or  else  in  the 
kitchen  helping  Marda,"  replied  the  Senora,  in  a 
whisper.  "  I  told  her  to  help  Marda  with  the 
peppers  this  morning." 

Eamona  nodded,  returned  to  the  veranda,  and 
sat  down  to  decide  on  her  course  of  action.  Then 
she  rose  again,  and  going  to  Father  Salvierderra's 
room,  looked  in.  The  room  was  still  in  disorder. 
Margarita  had  left  her  work  there  unfinished.  The 
color  deepened  on  Eamona's  cheeks.  It  was  strange 
how  accurately  she  divined  each  process  of  the  inci 
dent.  "  She  saw  him  from  this  window,"  said  Ea 
mona,  "  and  has  run  after  him.  It  is  shameful.  I 
will  go  and  call  her  back,  and  let  her  see  that  I  saw 
it  all.  It  is  high  time  that  this  was  stopped." 

But  once  back  in  the  veranda,  Eamona  halted,  and 
seated  herself  in  her  chair  again.  The  idea  of  seem 
ing  to  spy  was  revolting  to  her. 

"  I  will  wait  here  till  she  comes  back,"  she  said, 
and  took  up  her  embroidery.  But  she  could  not 
work.  As  the  minutes  went  slowly  by,  she  sat  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  almond  orchard,  where  first 
Alessandro  and  then  Margarita  had  disappeared.  At 
last  she  could  bear  it  no  longer.  It  seemed  to  her 
already  a  very  long  time.  It  was  not  in  reality  very 
long,  —  a  half  .hour  or  so,  perhaps  ;  but  it  was  long 
enough  for  Margarita  to  have  made  great  headway, 
as  she  thought,  in  her  talk  with  Alessandro,  and  for 


RAMON  A. 

things  to  have  reached  just  the  worst  possible  crisis 
at  which  they  could  have  been  surprised,  when  Ra- 
rnona  suddenly  appeared  at  the  orchard  gate,  saying 
in  a  stern  tone,  "  Margarita,  you  are  wanted  in  the 
house  ! "  At  a  bad  crisis,  indeed,  for  everybody  con 
cerned.  The  picture  which  Ramona  had  seen,  as  she 
reached  the  gate,  was  this  :  Alessaudro,  standing  with 
his  back  against  the  fence,  his  right  hand  hanging 
listlessly  down,  with  the  priming-knife  in  it,  his  left 
hand  in  the  hand  of  Margarita,  who  stood  close  to 
him,  looking  up  in  his  face,  with  a  half-saucy,  half- 
loving  expression.  What  made  bad  matters  worse, 
was,  that  at  the  first  sight  of  Ramona,  Alessandro 
snatched  his  hand  from  Margarita's,  and  tried  to  draw 
farther  off  from  her,  looking  at  her  with  an  expres 
sion  which,  even  in  her  anger,  Ramona  could  not  help 
seeing  was  one  of  disgust  and  repulsion.  And  if 
Ramona  saw  it,  how  much  more  did  Margarita  !  Saw 
it,  felt  it,  as  only  a  woman  repulsed  in  presence  of  an 
other  woman  can  see  and  feel.  The  whole  thing  was 
over  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  ;  the  telling  it  takes 
double,  treble  the  time  of  the  happening.  Before 
Alessandro  was  fairly  aware  what  had  befallen,  Ra 
mona  and  Margarita  were  disappearing  from  view 
under  the  garden  trellis,  —  Ramona  walking  in  ad 
vance,  stately,  silent,  and  Margarita  following,  sulky, 
abject  in  her  gait,  but  with  a  raging  whirlwind  in  her 
heart. 

It  had  taken  only  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  but  it 
had  told  Margarita  the  truth.  Alessandro  too. 

"  My  God  ! "  he  said,  "  the  Senorita  thought  me 
making  love  to  that  girl.  May  the  fiends  get  her ! 
The  Senorita  looked  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  dog.  How 
could  she  think  a  man  would  look  at  a  woman  after 
he  had  once  seen  her  !  And  I  can  never,  never  speak 
to  her  to  tell  her  !  Oh,  this  cannot  be  borne  ! "  And 
in  his  rage  Alessaudro  threw  his  pruniug-knife  whirl- 


112  RAMON  A. 

ing  through  the  air  so  fiercely,  it  sank  to  the  hilt  in 
one  of  the  old  olive-trees.  He  wished  he  were  dead. 
He  was  minded  to  flee  the  place.  How  could  he 
ever  look  the  Senorita  in  the  face  again  ! 

"  Perdition  take  that  girl ! "  he  said  over  and  over 
in  his  helpless  despair.  An  ill  outlook  for  Margarita 
after  this  ;  and  the  girl  had  not  deserved  it. 

In  Margarita's  heart  the  pain  was  more  clearly  de 
fined.  She  had  seen  Earnona  a  half-second  before 
Alessandro  had ;  and  dreaming  no  special  harm,  ex 
cept  a  little  confusion  at  being  seen  thus  standing 
with  him,  —  for  she  would  tell  the  Senorita  all  about 
it  when  matters  had  gone  a  little  farther,  —  had  not 
let  go  of  Alessandro's  hand.  But  the  next  second 
she  had  seen  in  his  face  a  look  ;  oh,  she  would  never 
forget  it,  never !  That  she  should  live  to  have  had 
any  man  look  at  her  like  that !  At  the  first  glimpse 
of  the  Senorita,  all  the  blood  in  his  body  seemed 
rushing  into  his  face,  and  he  had  snatched  his  hand 
away,  —  for  it  was  Margarita  herself  that  had  taken 
his  hand,  not  he  hers,  —  had  snatched  his  hand  away, 
and  pushed  her  from  him,  till  she  had  nearly  fallen. 
All  this  might  have  been  borne,  if  it  had  been  only 
a  fear  of  the  Senorita's  seeing  them,  which  had  made 
him  do  it.  But  Margarita  knew  a  great  deal  better 
than  that.  That  one  swift,  anguished,  shame-smitten, 
appealing,  worshipping  look  on  Alessandro's  face,  as 
his  eyes  rested  on  Earnona,  was  like  a  flash  of  light 
into  Margarita's  consciousness.  Far  better  than  Ales 
sandro  himself,  she  now  knew  his  secret.  In  her 
first  rage  she  did  not  realize  either  the  gulf  between 
herself  and  Eamona,  or  that  between  Eamona  and 
Alessandro.  Her  jealous  rage  was  as  entire  as  if  they 
had  all  been  equals  together.  She  lost  her  head  alto 
gether,  and  there  was  embodied  insolence  in  the  tone 
in  which  she  said  presently,  "  Did  the  Senorita  want 
me?" 


RAMON  A.  113 

Turning  swiftly  on  her,  and  looking  her  full  in  the 
eye,  Kamona  said  :  "  I  saw  you  go  to  the  orchard, 
Margarita,  and  I  knew  what  you  went  for.  I  knew 
that  you.  were  at  the  brook  last  night  with  Alessan- 
dro.  All  I  wanted  of  you  was  to  tell  you  that  if  I 
see  anything  more  of  this  sort,  I  shall  speak  to  the 
Senora." 

"  There  is  no  harm,"  muttered  Margarita,  sullenly. 
"  I  don't  know  what  the  Seuorita  means." 

"  You  know  very  well,  Margarita,"  retorted  Ka- 
mona.  "  You  know  that  the  Senora  permits  nothing 
of  the  kind.  Be  careful,  now,  what  you  do."  And  with 
that  the  two  separated,  Kamona  returning  to  the 
veranda  and  her  embroidery,  and  Margarita  to  her 
neglected  duty  of  making  the  good  Father's  bed.  But 
each  girl's  heart  was  hot  and  unhappy ;  and  Marga 
rita's  would  have  been  still  hotter  and  unhappier,  had 
she  heard  the  words  which  were  being  spoken  on  the 
veranda  a  little  later. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  his  blind  rage  at  Marga 
rita,  himself,  and  fate  generally,  Alessandro,  recovering 
his  senses,  had  ingeniously  persuaded  himself  that,  as 
the  Senora' s  and  also  the  Senorita's  servant,  for  the 
time  being,  he  owed  it  to  them  to  explain  the  situ 
ation  in  which  he  had  just  been  found.  Just  what 
he  was  to  say  he  did  not  know ;  but  no  sooner  had 
the  thought  struck  him,  than  he  set  off  at  full  speed 
for  the  house,  hoping  to  find  Kamona  on  the  veranda, 
where  he  knew  she  spent  all  her  time  when  not  with 
Sefior  Felipe. 

When  Kamona  saw  him  coming,  she  lowered  her 
eyes,  and  was  absorbed  in  her  embroidery.  She  did 
not  wish  to  look  at  him. 

The  footsteps  stopped.  She  knew  he  was  standing 
at  the  steps.  She  would  not  look  up.  She  thought 
if  she  did  not,  he  would  go  away.  She  did  not  know 
either  the  Indian  or  the  lover  nature.  After  a  time, 


114  RAMON  A. 

finding  the  consciousness  of  the  soundless  presence 
intolerable,  she  looked  up,  and  surprised  on  Alessan- 
dro's  face  a  gaze  which  had,  in  its  long  interval  of 
freedom  from  observation,  been  slowly  gathering  up 
into  it  all  the  passion  of  the  man's  soul,  as  a  burning- 
glass  draws  the  fire  of  the  sun's  rays.  Involuntarily 
a  low  cry  burst  from  Eamona's  lips,  and  she  sprang  to 
her  feet. 

"  Ah  !  did  I  frighten  the  Senorita  ?  Forgive.  I 
have  been  waiting  here  a  long  time  to  speak  to  her. 
I  wished  to  say  — 

Suddenly  Alessandro  discovered  that  he  did  not 
know  what  he  wished  to  say. 

As  suddenly,  Eamona  discovered  that  she  knew  all 
he  wished  to  say.  But  she  spoke  not,  only  looked  at 
him  searchingly. 

"  Senorita,"  he  began  again,  "  I  would  never  be 
unfaithful  to  my  duty  to  the  Senora,  and  to  you." 

"  I  believe  you,  Alessandro,"  said  Eamona.  "  It  is 
not  necessary  to  say  more." 

At  these  words  a  radiant  joy  spread  over  Alessan- 
dro's  face.  He  had  not  hoped  for  this.  He  felt, 
rather  than  heard,  that  Eamona  understood  him.  He 
felt,  for  the  first  time,  a  personal  relation  between  him 
self  and  her. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said,  in  the  brief  phrase  so  fre 
quent  with  his  people.  "It  is  well."  And  with  a 
reverent  inclination  of  his  head,  he  walked  away. 
Margarita,  still  dawdling  surlily  over  her  work  in 
Father  Salvierderra's  room,  heard  Alessandro's  voice, 
and  running  to  discover  to  whom  he  was  speaking, 
caught  these  last  words.  Peering  from  behind  a  cur 
tain,  she  saw  the  look  with  which  he  said  them ; 
saw  also  the  expression  on  Eamona's  face  as  she 
listened. 

Margarita  clenched  her  hands.  The  seed  had  blos 
somed.  Earnona  had  an  enemy. 


RAMON  A.  115 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  glad  Father  Salvicrderra  has  gone  !" 
said  the  girl,  bitterly.  "  He  'd  have  had  this  out  of 
me,  spite  of  everything.  I  have  n't  got  to  confess 
for  a  year,  maybe ;  and  much  can  happen  in  that 
time." 

Much,  indeed ! 


vm. 

'Ij \ELIPE  gained  but  slowly.  The  relapse  was 
JD  indeed,  as  Father  Salvierderra  had  said,  worse 
than  the  original  attack.  Day  after  day  he  lay  with 
little  apparent  change ;  no  pain,  but  a  weakness  so 
great  that  it  was  almost  harder  to  bear  than  sharp 
suffering  would  have  been.  Nearly  every  day  Ales- 
sandro  was  sent  for  to  play  or  sing  to  him.  It  seemed 
to  be  the  only  thing  that  roused  him  from  his  half 
lethargic  state.  Sometimes  he  would  talk  with 
Alessandro  on  matters  relative  to  the  estate,  and  show 
for  a  few  moments  something  like  his  old  animation ; 
but  he  was  soon  tired,  and  would  close  his  eyes,  say 
ing  :  "  I  will  speak  with  you  again  about  this,  Ales 
sandro  ;  I  am  going  to  sleep  now.  Sing." 

The  Senora,  seeing  Felipe's  enjoyment  of  Alessan* 
dro's  presence,  soon  came  to  have  a  warm  feeling 
towards  him  herself;  moreover,  she  greatly  liked  his 
quiet  reticence.  There  was  hardly  a  surer  road  to  the 
Senora's  favor,  for  man  or  woman,  than  to  be  chary  of 
speech  and  reserved  in  demeanor.  She  had  an  in 
stinct  of  kinship  to  all  that  was  silent,  self-contained, 
mysterious,  in  human  nature.  The  more  she  observed 
Alessandro,  the  more  she  trusted  and  approved  him. 
Luckily  for  Juan  Can,  he  did  not  know  how  matters 
were  working  in  his  mistress's  mind.  If  he  had,  he 
would  have  been  in  a  fever  of  apprehension,  and  would 
have  got  at  swords'  points  with  Alessandro  imme 
diately.  On  the  contrary,  all  unaware  of  the  real 
situation  of  affairs,  and  never  quite  sure  that  the 
Mexican  he  dreaded  might  not  any  day  hear  of  his 


RAMON  A.  117 

misfortune,  and  appear,  asking  for  the  place,  he  took 
every  opportunity  to  praise  Alessandro  to  the  Senora. 
She  never  visited  his  bedside  that  he  had  not 
something  to  say  in  favor  of  the  lad,  as  he  called 
him. 

"  Truly,  Senora,"  he  said  again  and  again,  "  I  do 
marvel  where  the  lad  got  so  much  knowledge,  at  his  age. 
He  is  like  an  old  hand  at  the  sheep  business.  He 
knows  more  than  any  shepherd  I  have,  —  a  deal  more  ; 
and  it  is  not  only  of  sheep.  He  has  had  experience, 
too,  in  the  handling  of  cattle.  Juan  Jose  has  been 
beholden  to  him  more  than  once,  already,  for  a  remedy 
of  which  he  knew  not.  And  such  modesty,  withal.  I 
knew  not  that  there  were  such  Indians ;  surely  there 
cannot  be  many  such." 

"  No,  I  fancy  not,"  the  Senora  would  reply,  absently. 
"  His  father  is  a  man  of  intelligence,  and  has  trained 
his  son  well." 

"  There  is  nothing  he  is  not  ready  to  do,"  continued 
Alessandro's  eulogist.  "He  is  as  handy  with  tools 
as  if  he  had  been  'prenticed  to  a  carpenter.  He  has 
made  me  a  new  splint  for  my  leg,  which  was  a 
relief  like  salve  to  a  wound,  so  much  easier  was  it 
than  before.  He  is  a  good  lad,  —  a  good  lad." 

None  of  these  sayings  of  Juan's  were  thrown  away 
on  the  Senora.  More  and  more  closely  she  watched 
Alessandro;  and  the  very  thing  which  Juan  had  feared, 
and  which  he  had  thought  to  avert  by  having  Ales 
sandro  his  temporary  substitute,  was  slowly  coming  to 
pass.  The  idea  was  working  in  the  Senora's  mind,  that 
she  might  do  a  worse  thing  than  engage  this  young, 
strong,  active,  willing  man  to  remain  permanently  in 
her  employ.  The  possibility  of  an  Indian's  being  so 
born  and  placed  that  he  would  hesitate  about  becom 
ing  permanently  a  servant  even  of  the  Senora  Moreno, 
did  not  occur  to  her.  However,  she  would  do  nothing 
hastily.  There  would  be  plenty  of  time  before  Juan 


118  RAMONA. 

Can's  leg  was  well.  She  would  study  the  young  man 
more.  In  the  mean  time,  she  would  cause  Felipe  to 
think  of  the  idea,  and  propose  it. 

So  one  day  she  said  to  Felipe :  "  What  a  voice  that 
Alessandro  has,  Felipe.  We  shall  miss  his  music 
sorely  when  he  goes,  shall  we  not  ?  " 

"  He 's  not  going  !  "  exclaimed  Felipe,  startled. 

"  Oh,  no,  no  ;  not  at  present.  He  agreed  to  stay  till 
Juan  Can  was  about  again ;  but  that  will  be  not  more 
than  six  weeks  now,  or  eight,  I  suppose.  You  for 
get  how  time  has  flown  while  you  have  been  lying 
here  ill,  my  son." 

"  True,  true ! "  said  Felipe.  "  Is  it  really  a  month 
already  ? "  and  he  sighed. 

"  Juan  Can  tells  me  that  the  lad  has  a  marvellous 
knowledge  for  one  of  his  years,"  continued  the  Senora. 
"  He  says  he  is  as  skilled  with  cattle  as  with  sheep ; 
knows  more  than  any  shepherd  we  have  on  the  place. 
He  seems  wonderfully  quiet  and  well-mannered.  I 
never  saw  an  Indian  who  had  such  behavior." 

"  Old  Pablo  is  just  like  him,"  said  Felipe.  "  It 
was  natural  enough,  living  so  long  with  Father  Peyri. 
And  I  Ve  seen  other  Indians,  too,  with  a  good  deal 
the  same  manner  as  Alessandro.  It 's  born  in 
them." 

"  I  can 't  bear  the  idea  of  Alessandro's  going  away. 
But  by  that  time  you  will  be  well  and  strong,"  said 
the  Senora ;  "  you  would  not  miss  him  then,  would 
you?" 

"  Yes,  I  would,  too  ! "  said  Felipe,  pettishly.  He 
was  still  weak  enough  to  be  childish.  "  I  like  him 
about  me.  He 's  worth  a  dozen  times  as  much  as  any 
man  we  Ve  got.  But  I  don't  suppose  money  could 
hire  him  to  stay  on  any  ranch." 

"  Were  you  thinking  of  hiring  him  permanently  ? " 
asked  the  Senora,  in  a  surprised  tone.  "I  don't 
doubt  you  could  do  so  if  you  wished.  They  are  all 


RAMON  A.  119 

poor,  I  suppose ;  he  would  not  work  with  the  shearers 
if  he  were  not  poor." 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't  that,"  said  Felipe,  impatiently.  "  You 
can't  understand,  because  you  've  never  been  among 
them.  But  they  are  just  as  proud  as  we  are.  Some 
of  them,  I  mean ;  such  men  as  old  Pablo.  They 
shear  sheep  for  money  just  as  I  sell  wool,  for  money. 
There  is  n't  so  much  difference.  Alessandro's  men  in 
the  band  obey  him,  and  all  the  men  in  the  village 
obey  Pablo,  just  as  implicitly  as  my  men  here  obey 
me.  Faith,  much  more  so  ! "  added  Felipe,  laughing. 
"You  can't  understand  it,  mother,  but  it's  so.  I 
am  not  at  all  sure  I  could  offer  Alessandro  Assis 
money  enough  to  tempt  him  to  stay  here  as  my 
servant." 

The  Senora's  nostrils  dilated  in  scorn.  "  No,  I  do 
not  understand  it."  she  said.  "  Most  certainly  I  do 
not  understand  it.  Of  what  is  it  that  these  noble 
lords  of  villages  are  so  proud  ?  their  ancestors,  — 
naked  savages  less  than  a  hundred  years  ago  ?  Naked 
savages  they  themselves  too,  to-day,  if  we  had  not 
come  here  to  teach  and  civilize  them.  The  race  was 
never  meant  for  anything  but  servants.  That  was 
all  the  Fathers  ever  expected  to  make  of  them, — 
good,  faithful  Catholics,  and  contented  laborers  in  the 
fields.  Of  course  there  are  always  exceptional  in 
stances,  and  I  think,  myself,  Alessandro  is  one.  I 
don't  believe,  however,  he  is  so  exceptional,  but  that 
if  you  were  to  offer  him,  for  instance,  the  same  wages 
you  pay  Juan  Can,  he  would  jump  at  the  chance  of 
staying  on  the  place." 

,  "Well,  I  shall  think  about  it,"  said  Felipe.  "I  'd 
like  nothing  better  than  to  have  him  here  always. 
He  's  a  fellow  I  heartily  like.  I  '11  think  about  it." 

Which  was  all  the  Senora  wanted  done  at  present. 

Ramona  had  chanced  to  come  in  as  this  conversa 
tion  was  going  on.  Hearing  Alessandro's  name  she 


120  RAMON  A. 

seated  herself  at  the  window,  looking  out,  but  listen 
ing  intently.  The  month  had  done  much  for  Ales- 
sandro  with  Eamona,  though  neither  Alessandro  nor 
Eamona  knew  it.  It  had  done  this  much,  —  that 
Eamona  knew  always  when  Alessandro  was  near, 
that  she  trusted  him,  and  that  she  had  ceased  to 
think  of  hirh  as  an  Indian  any  more  than  when  she 
thought  of  Felipe,  she  thought  of  him  as  a  Mexican. 
Moreover,  seeing  the  two  men  frequently  together,  she 
had  admitted  to  herself,  as  Margarita  had  done  before 
her,  that  Alessandro  was  far  the  handsomer  man  of  the 
two.  This  Eamona  did  not  like  to  admit,  but  she 
could  not  help  it. 

"  I  wish  Felipe  were  as  tall  and  strong  as  Alessan 
dro,"  she  said  to  herself  many  a  time.  "  I  do  not  see 
why  he-  could  not  have  been.  I  wonder  if  the  Senora 
sees  how  much  handsomer  Alessandro  is." 

When  Felipe  said  that  he  did  not  believe  he  could 
offer  Alessandro  Assis  money  enough  to  tempt  him 
to  stay  on  the  place,  Eamona  opened  her  lips  sud 
denly,  as  if  to  speak,  then  changed  her  mind,  and  re 
mained  silent.  She  had  sometimes  displeased  the 
Senora  by  taking  part  in  conversations  between  her 
and  her  son. 

Felipe  saw  the  motion,  but  he  also  thought  it  wiser 
to  wait  till  after  his  mother  had  left  the  room,  before 
he  asked  Eamoua  what  she  was  on  the  point  of  say 
ing.  As  soon  as  the  Senora  went  out,  he  'said, 
"  What  was  it,  Eamona,  you  were  going  to  say  just 
now  ? " 

Eamona  colored.     She  had  decided  not  to  say  it. 

"  Tell  me,  Eamona,"  persisted  Felipe.  "  You  were 
going  to  say  something  about  Alessandro's  staying ; 
I  know  you  were." 

Eamona  did  not  answer.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  found  herself  embarrassed  before  Felipe. 

"  Don't  you  like  Alessandro  ? "  said  Felipe. 


RAMON  A.  121 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  replied  Ramona,  with  instant  eagerness. 
"  It  was  not  that  at  all.  I  like  him  very  much."  But 
then  she  stopped. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  then  ?  Have  you  heard  any 
thing  on  the  place  about  his  staying  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,  no ;  not  a  word  ! "  said  Ramona.  "  Every 
body  understands  that  he  is  here  only  till  Juan  Can 
gets  well.  But  you  said  you  did  not  believe  you 
could  offer  him  money  enough  to  tempt  him  to  stay." 

"  Well,"  said  Felipe,  inquiringly,  "  I  do  not.  Do 
you  ? " 

"  I  think  he  would  like  to  stay,"  said  Ramona,  hesi 
tatingly.  "  That  was  what  I  was  going  to  say." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Felipe. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Ramona  said,  still  more  hesitat 
ingly.  Now  that  she  had  said  it,  she  was  sorry.  Felipe 
looked  curiously  at  her.  Hesitancy  like  this,  doubts, 
uncertainty  as  to  her  impressions,  were  not  character 
istic  of  Ramoua.  A  flitting  something  which  was  far 
from  being  suspicion  or  jealousy,  and  yet  was  of  kin 
to  them  both,  went  through  Felipe's  mind,  —  went 
through  so  swiftly  that  he  was  scarce  conscious  of  it ; 
if  he  had  been,  he  would  have  scorned  himself.  Jealous 
of  an  Indian  sheep-shearer?  Impossible!  Neverthe 
less,  the  flitting  something  left  a  trace,  and  prevented 
Felipe  from  forgetting  the  trivial  incident ;  and  after 
this,  it  was  certain  that  Felipe  wTould  observe  Ramona 
more  closely  than  he  had  done ;  would  weigh  her 
words  and  actions  ;  and  if  she  should  seem  by  a  shade 
altered  in  either,  would  watch  still  more  closely. 
Meshes  were  closing  around  Ramona.  Three  watch 
ers  of  her  every  look  and  act,  —  Alessandro  in  pure 
love,  Margarita  in  jealous  hate,  Felipe  in  love  and 
perplexity.  Only  the  Seiiora  observed  her  not.  If 
she  had,  matters  might  have  turned  out  very  differ 
ently  ;  for  the  Senora  was  clear-sighted,  rarely  mis 
taken  in  her  reading  of  people's  motives,  never  long 


122  RAMONA. 

deceived ;  but  her  observing  and  discriminating  pow 
ers  were  not  in  focus,  so  far  as  Eamona  was  concerned. 
The  girl  was  curiously  outside  of  the  Senora's  real 
life.  Shelter,  food,  clothes,  all  external  needs,  in  so 
far  as  her  means  allowed,  the  Senora  would,  with 
out  fail,  provide  for  the  child  her  sister  had  left  in 
her  hands  as  a  trust ;  but  a  personal  relation  with  her, 
a  mother's  affection,  or  even  interest  and  acquain 
tance,  no.  The  Senora  had  not  that  to  give.  And 
if  she  had  it  not,  was  she  to  blame  ?  What  could  she 
do  ?  Years  ago  Father  Salvierderra  had  left  off  remon 
strating  with  her  on  this  point.  "  Is  there  more  I 
should  do  for  the  child  ?  Do  you  see  aught  lacking, 
aught  amiss  ? "  the  Senora  would  ask,  conscientiously, 
but  with  pride.  And  the  Father,  thus  inquired  of, 
could  not  point  out  a  duty  which  had  been  neglected. 

"  You  do  not  love  her,  my  daughter,"  he  said. 

"  No."  Senora  Moreno's  truthfulness  was  of  the 
adamantine  order.  "  No,  I  do  not.  I  cannot.  One 
cannot  love  by  act  of  will." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  Father  would  say  sadly  ;  "  but 
affection  may  be  cultivated." 

"Yes,  if  it  exists,"  was  the  Senora's  constant  an 
swer.  "  But  in  this  case  it  does  not  exist.  I  shall 
never  love  Eamona.  Only  at  your  command,  and 
to  save  my  sister  a  sorrow,  I  took  her.  I  will  nevei 
fail  in  my  duty  to  her." 

It  was  of  no  use.  As  well  say  to  the  mountain, 
"  Be  cast  into  the  sea,"  as  try  to  turn  the  Senora's  heart 
in  any  direction  whither  it  did  not  of  itself  tend. 
All  that  Father  Salvierderra  could  do,  was  to  love 
Kamona  the  more  himself,  which  he  did  heartily, 
and  more  and  more  each  year,  and  small  marvel  at  it ; 
for  a  gentler,  sweeter  maiden  never  drew  breath  than 
this  same  Eamona,  who  had  been  all  these  years,  save 
for  Felipe,  lonely  in  the  Senora  Moreno's  house. 

Three  watchers  of  Eamona  now.     If  there  had  been 


RAM  ON  A.  123 

a  fourth,  and  that  fourth  herself,  matters  might  have 
turned  out  differently.  But  how  should  Kaniona  watch  ? 
How  should  Bamona  know  ?  Except  for  her  one 
year  at  school  with  the  nuns,  she  had  never  been 
away  from  the  Seiiora's  house.  Felipe  was  the  only 
young  man  she  had  known,  —  Felipe,  her  brother  since 
she  was  five  years  old. 

There  were  no  gayeties  in  the  Senora  Moreno's 
home.  Felipe,  when  he  needed  them,  went  one  day's 
journey,  or  two,  or  three,  to  get  them ;  went  as  often 
as  he  liked.  Ramona  never  went.  How  many  times 
she  had  longed  to  go  to  Santa  Barbara,  or  to  Monte 
rey,  or  Los  Angeles ;  but  to  have  asked  the  Senora's 
permission  to  accompany  her  on  some  of  her  now  in 
frequent  journeys  to  these  places  would  have  required 
more  courage  than  Eamona  possessed.  It  was  now 
three  years  since  she  left  the  convent  school,  but  she 
was  still  as  fresh  from  the  hands  of  the  nuns  as  on 
the  day  when,  with  loving  tears,  they  had  kissed  her 
in  farewell.  The  few  romances  and  tales  and  bits  of 
verse  she  had  read  were  of  the  most  innocent  and 
old-fashioned  kind,  and  left  her  hardly  less  childlike 
than  before.  This  childlikeness,  combined  with  her 
happy  temperament,  had  kept  her  singularly  contented 
in  her  monotonous  life.  She  had  fed  the  birds,  taken 
care  of  the  flowers,  kept  the  chapel  in  order,  helped 
in  light  household  work,  embroidered,  sung,  and,  as 
the  Senora  eight  years  before  had  bade  her  do,  said 
her  prayers  and  pleased  Father  Salvierderra. 

By  processes  strangely  unlike,  she  and  Alessandro 
had  both  been  kept  strangely  free  from  thoughts  of 
love  and  of  marriage,  —  he  by  living  in  the  shadow, 
and  she  by  living  in  the  sun ;  his  heart  and  thoughts 
filled  with  perplexities  and  fears,  hers  filled  by  a 
placid  routine  of  light  and  easy  tasks,  and  the  out 
door  pleasures  of  a  child. 

As  the  days  went  on,  and   Felipe  still  remained 


124  RAMON  A. 

feeble,  Alessandro  meditated  a  bold  stroke.  Each 
time  that  he  went  to  Felipe's  room  to  sing  or  to  play, 
he  felt  himself  oppressed  by  the  air.  An  hour  of  it 
made  him  uncomfortable.  The  room  was  large,  and 
had  two  windows,  and  the  door  was  never  shut ;  yet 
the  air  seemed  to  Alessaudro  stifling. 

"  I  should  be  as  ill  as  the  Senor  Felipe,  if  I  had  to 
stay  in  that  room,  and  a  bed  is  a  weakening  thing, 
enough  to  pull  the  strongest  man  down,"  said  Ales 
sandro  to  Juan  Can  one  day.  "  Do  you  think  I  should 
anger  them  if  I  asked  them  to  let  me  bring  Senor 
Felipe  out  to  the  veranda  and  put  him  on  a  bed  of 
my  making  ?  I  'd  wager  my  head  I  'd  put  him  on  his 
feet  in  a  week." 

"  And  if  you  did  that,  you  might  ask  the  Senora  for 
the  half  of  the  estate,  and  get  it,  lad,"  replied  Juan. 
Seeing  the  hot  blood  darkening  in  Alessandro's  face 
at  his  words,  he  hastened  to  add,  "  Do  not  be  so  hot- 
blooded.  I  meant  not  that  you  would  ask  any  reward 
for  doing  it ;  I  was  only  thinking  what  joy  it  would 
be  to  the  Senora  to  see  Senor  Felipe  on  his  feet  again. 
It  has  often  crossed  my  thoughts  that  if  he  did  not 
get  up  from  this  sickness  the  Senora  would  not  be 
long  behind  him.  It  is  but  for  him  that  she  lives. 
And  who  would  have  the  estate  in  that  case,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  find  out." 

"  Would  it  not  be  the  Senorita  ? "  asked  Alessaudro. 

Juan  Can  laughed  an  ugly  laugh.  "  Ha,  ha !  Let 
the  Senora  hear  you  say  that ! "  he  said.  "  Faith,  it 
will  be  little  the  Senorita  gets  more  than  enough 
for  her  bread,  may  be,  out  of  the  Moreno  estate.  Hark 
ye,  Alessaudro  ;  if  you  will  not  tell,  I  will  tell  you  the 
story  of  the  Senorita.  You  know  she  is  not  of  the 
Moreno  blood  ;  is  no  relation  of  theirs." 

"  Yes,"  said  Alessandro ;  "  Margarita  has  said  to  me 
that  the  Senorita  liamoua  was  only  the  foster-child 
of  the  Senora  Moreno." 


RAMONA.  125 

"Foster-child!"  repeated  Juan  Can,  contemptuously, 
"  There  is  something  to  the  tale  I  know  not,  nor  ever 
could  find  out ;  for  when  I  was  in  Monterey  the 
Ortegna  house  was  shut,  and  I  could  not  get  speech 
of  any  of  their  people.  But  this  much  I  know,  that  it 
was  the  Senora  Ortegna  that  had  the  girl  first  in  keep 
ing;  and  there  was  a  scandalous  tale  about  her  birth." 

If  Juan  Can's  eyes  had  not  been  purblind  with 
old  age,  he  would  have  seen  that  in  Alessandro's  face 
which  would  have  made  him  choose  his  words  more 
carefully.  But  he  went  on :  "  It  was  after  the  Senora 
Ortegna  was  buried,  that  our  Senora  returned,  bring 
ing  this  child  with  her ;  and  I  do  assure  you,  lad,  I 
have  seen  the  Senora  look  at  her  many  a  time  as  if 
she  wished  her  dead.  And  it  is  a  shame,  for  she  was 
always  as  fair  and  good  a  child  as  the  saints  ever 
saw.  But  a  stain  on  the  blood,  a  stain  on  the  blood, 
lad,  is  a  bitter  thing  in  a  house.  This  much  I  know, 
her  mother  was  an  Indian.  Once  when  I  was  in  the 
chapel,  behind  the  big  Saint  Joseph  there,  I  overheard 
the  Senora  say  as  much.  She  was  talking  to  Father 
Salvierderra,  and  she  said,  '  If  the  child  had  only  the 
one  blood  in  her  veins,  it  would  be  different.  I  like 
not  these  crosses  with  Indians.'" 

If  Alessandro  had  been  civilized,  he  would  at  this 
word  "  Indian "  have  bounded  to  his  feet.  Being 
Alessandro,  he  stood  if  possible  stiller  than  before, 
and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  How  know  you  it  was  the 
mother  that  was  the  Indian  ?  " 

Juan  laughed  again,  maliciously :  "  Ha,  it  is  the 
Ortegna  face  she  has  ;  and  that  Ortegna,  why,  lie  was 
the  scandal  byword  of  the  whole  coast.  There  was 
not  a  decent  woman  would  have  spoken  to  him,  except 
for  his  wife's  sake." 

"  But  did  you  not  say  that  it  was  in  the  Senora 
Ortegna's  keeping  that  the  child  was  ? "  asked  Ales 
sandro,  breathing  harder  and  faster  each  moment 


126  RAMON  A. 

now ;  stupid  old  Juan  Can  so  absorbed  in  relish  of 
his  gossip,  that  he  noticed  nothing. 

"  Ay,  ay.  So  I  said,"  he  went  on ;  "  and  so  it  was. 
There  be  such  saints,  you  know ;  though  the  Lord 
knows  if  she  had  been  minded  to  give  shelter  to  all 
her  husband's  bastards,  she  might  have  taken  lease  of 
a  church  to  hold  them.  But  there  was  a  story  about 
a  man's  coming  with  this  infant  and  leaving  it  in  the 
Sefiora's  room ;  and  she,  poor  lady,  never  having  had 
a  child  of  her  own,  did  warm  to  it  at  first  sight,  and 
kept  it  with  her  to  the  last ;  and  I  wager  me,  a  hard 
time  she  had  to  get  our  Senora  to  take  the  child  when 
she  died ;  except  that  it  was  to  spite  Ortegna,  I  think 
our  Senora  would  as  soon  the  child  had  been  dead." 

"Has  she  not  treated  her  kindly  ?"  asked  Alessandro, 
in  a  husky  voice. 

Juan  Can's  pride  resented  this  question.  "  Do  you 
suppose  the  Senora  Moreno  would  do  an  unkindness 
to  one  under  her  roof  ? "  he  asked  loftily.  "  The 
Senorita  has  been  always,  in  all  things,  like  Serior 
Felipe  himself.  It  was  so  that  she  promised  the 
Senora  Ortegna,  I  have  heard." 

"  Does  the  Senorita  know  all  this  ? "  asked  Ales 
sandro. 

Juan  Can  crossed  himself.  "  Saints  save  us,  no  ! " 
he  exclaimed.  "  I  '11  not  forget,  to  my  longest  day, 
what  it  cost  me,  once  I  spoke  in  her  hearing,  when 
she  was  yet  small.  I  did  not  know  she  heard ;  but 
she  went  to  the  Senora,  asking  who  was  her  mother. 
And  she  said  I  had  said  her  mother  was  no  good, 
which  in  faith  I  did,  and  no  wonder.  And  the  Senora 
came  to  me,  and  said  she,  '  Juan  Canito,  you  have 
been  a  long  time  in  our  house ;  but  if  ever  I  hear  of 
your  mentioning  aught  concerning  the  Senorita  Ka- 
mona,  on  this  estate  or  anywhere  else  in  the  country, 
that  day  you  leave  my  service  ! ' — And  you'd  not  do 
me  the  ill-turn  to  speak  of  it,  Alessandro,  now  ? "  said 


RAMONA.  127 

the  old  man,  anxiously.  "  My  tongue  runs  away  with 
me,  lying  here  on  this  cursed  bed,  with  nothing  to 
do,  —  an  active  man  like  me." 

"  No,  I  '11  not  speak  of  it,  you  may  be  assured," 
said  Alessandro,  walking  away  slowly. 

"Here  !  Here  !  "  called  Juan.  "  What  about  that 
plan  you  had  for  making  a  bed  for  Senor  Felipe  on 
the  veranda  ?  Was  it  of  raw-hide  you  meant  ?  " 

"  Ah,  I  had  forgotten,"  said  Alessaudro,  returning. 
"Yes,  that  was  it.  There  is  great  virtue  in  a  raw 
hide,  tight  stretched ;  my  father  says  that  it  is  the 
only  bed  the  Fathers  would  ever  sleep  on,  in  the 
Mission  days.  I  myself  like  the  ground  even  better  ; 
but  my  father  sleeps  always  on  the  raw-hide.  He 
says  it  keeps  him  well.  Do  you  think  I  might  speak 
of  it  to  the  Senora  ?  " 

"  Speak  of  it  to  Senor  Felipe  himself,"  said  Juari. 
"  It  will  be  as  he  says.  He  rules  this  place  now,  from 
beginning  to  end  ;  and  it  is  but  yesterday  I  held  him 
on  my  knee.  It  is  soon  that  the  old  are  pushed  to 
the  wall,  Alessandro." 

"  Nay,  Juan  Canito,"  replied  Alessandro,  kindly. 
"  It  is  not  so.  My  father  is  many  years  older  than 
you  are,  and  he  rules  our  people  to-day  as  firmly  as 
ever.  I  myself  obey  him,  as  if  I  were  a  lad  still." 

"  What  else,  then,  but  a  lad  do  you  call  yourself,  I 
wonder,"  thought  Juan ;  but  he  answered,  "  It  is  not 
so  with  us.  The  old  are  not  held  in  such  reverence." 

"  That  is  not  well,"  replied  Alessandro.  "  We  have 
been  taught  differently.  There  is  an  old  man  in  our 
village  who  is  many,  many  years  older  than  my 
father.  He  helped  to  carry  the  mortar  at  the  building 
of  the  San  Diego  Mission,  I  do  not  know  how  many 
years  ago.  He  is  long  past  a  hundred  years  of  age. 
He  is  blind  and  childish,  and  cannot  walk ;  but  he  is 
cared  for  by  every  one.  And  we  bring  him  in  our 
arms  to  every  council,  and  set  him  by  my  father's 


123  RAMONA. 

side.  He  talks  very  foolishly  sometimes,  but  my 
father  will  not  let  him  be  interrupted.  -He  says  it 
brings  bad  luck  to  affront  the  aged.  We  will  pres 
ently  be  aged  ourselves." 

"  Ay,  ay  ! "  said  Juan,  sadly.  "  We  must  all  come 
to  it.  It  is  beginning  to  look  not  so  far  off  to  me  ! " 

Alessandro  stared,  no  less  astonished  at  Juan  Can's 
unconscious  revelation  of  his  standard  of  measure 
ment'  of  years  than  Juan  had  been  at  his.  "  Faith, 
old  man,  what  name  dost  give  to  yourself  to-day  •  " 
he  thought ;  but  went  on  with  the  topic  of  the  raw 
hide  bed.  "  I  may  not  so  soon  get  speech  with 
Senor  Felipe,"  he  said.  "  It  is  usually  when  he  is 
sleepy  that  I  go  to  play  for  him  or  to  sing.  But  it 
makes  my  heart  heavy  to  see  him  thus  languishing 
day  by  day,  and  all  for  lack  of  the  air  and  the  sun, 
I  do  believe,  indeed,  Juan." 

"  Ask  the  Senorita,  then,"  said  Juan.  "  She  has  his 
ear  at  all  times." 

Alessandro  made  no  answer.  Why  was  it  that  it  did 
not  please  him,  —  this  suggestion  of  speaking  to  lla- 
iriona  of  his  plan  for  Felipe's  welfare  ?  He  could  not 
have  told  ;  but  he  did  not  wish  to  speak  of  it  to  her. 

"  I  will  speak  to  the  Senora,"  he  said ;  and  as  luck 
would  have  it,  at  that  moment  the  Senora  stood  in 
the  doorway,  come  to  ask  after  Juan  Can's  health. 

The  suggestion  of  the  raw-hide  bed  struck  her  favor 
ably.  She  herself  had,  in  her  youth,  heard  much  of 
their  virtues,  and  slept  on  them.  "Yes,"  she  said, 
"  they  are  good.  We  will  try  it.  It  was  only  yester 
day  that  Senor  Felipe  was  complaining  of  the  bed  he 
lies  on ;  and  when  he  was  well,  he  thought  nothing 
could  be  so  good  ;  he  brought  it  here,  at  a  great  price, 
for  me,  but  I  could  not  lie  on  it.  It  seemed  as  if  it 
would  throw  me  off  as  soon  as  I  lay  down ;  it  is  a 
cheating  device,  like  all  these  innovations  the  Ameri 
cans  have  brought  into  the  country.  But  Senor 


RAM  ON  A.  129 

Felipe  till  now  thought  it  a  luxury ;  now  he  tosses 
ou  it,  and  says  it  is  throwing  him  all  the  time." 

Alessandro  smiled,  in  spite  of  his  reverence  for  the 
Sefiora.  "  I  once  lay  down  on  one  myself,  Senora,"  he 
said,  "  and  that  was  what  I  said  to  my  father.  It  was 
like  a  wild  horse  under  me,  making  himself  ready  to 
buck.  I  thought  perhaps  the  invention  was  of  the 
saints,  that  men  should  not  sleep  too  long." 

"  There  is  a  pile  of  raw-hides,"  said  Juan,  "  well 
cured,  but  not  too  stiff;  Juan  Jose  was  to  have  sent 
them  off  to-day  to  be  sold  ;  one  of  those  will  be  just 
right.  It  must  not  be  too  dry." 

"  The  fresher  the  better,"  said  Alessandro,  "  so  it 
have  no  dampness.  Shall  I  make  the  bed,  Senora  ? " 
he  asked,  "  and  will  the  Senora  permit  that  I  make  it 
on  the  veranda  ?  I  was  just  asking  Juan  Can  if  he 
thought  I  might  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  you  to  let  me 
bring  Senor  Felipe  into  the  outer  air.  With  us,  it  is 
thought  death  to  be  shut  up  in  walls,  as  he  has  been 
so  long.  Not  till  we  are  sure  to  die,  do  we  go  into 
the  dark  like  that." 

The  Senora  hesitated.  She  did  not  share  Alessan- 
dro's  prejudice  in  favor  of  fresh  air. 

"  Night  and  day  both  ?  "  she  said.  "  Surely  it  is 
not  well  to  sleep  out  in  the  night  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  best  of  all,  Senora,"  replied  Alessan 
dro,  earnestly.  "  I  beg  the  Senora  to  try  it.  If  Senor 
Felipe  have  not  mended  greatly  after  the  first  night 
he  have  so  slept,  then  Alessandro  will  be  a  liar." 

"  No,  only  mistaken,"  said  the  Senora,  gently.  She 
felt  herself  greatly  drawn  to  this  young  man  by  his 
devotion,  as  she  thought,  to  Felipe.  "  When  I  die 
and  leave  Felipe  here,"  she  had  more  than  once  said 
to  herself,  "  it  would  be  a  great  good  to  him  to  have 
such  a  servant  as  this  on  the  place." 

"Very  well,  Alessandro,"  she  replied;  "make  the 
bed,  and  we  will  try  it  at  once." 

9 


130  RAMON  A. 

This  was  early  in  the  forenoon.  The  sun  was  still 
high  in  the  west,  when  Rainoua,  sitting  as  usual  in 
the  veranda,  at  her  embroidery,  saw  Alessandro  coni- 
in<r,  followed  by  two  men,  bearing  the  raw-hide  bed. 

O7  v  . 

"  What  can  that  be  ? '  she  said.  "  Some  new  in 
vention  of  Alessandro's,  but  for  what  ? " 

"  A  bed  for  the  Senor  Felipe,  Senorita,"  said  Ales 
sandro,  running  lightly  up  the  steps.  "  The  Sefiora 
has  given  permission  to  place  it  here  on  the  veranda, 
and  Senor  Felipe  is  to  lie  here  day  and  night ;  and 
it  will  be  a  marvel  in  your  eyes  how  he  will  gain 
strength.  It  is  the  close  room  which  is  keeping  him 
weak  now  ;  he  has  no  illness." 

"  I  believe  that  is  the  truth,  Alessandro,"  exclaimed 
Ramona ;  "  I  have  been  thinking  the  same  thing.  My 
head  aches  after  I  am  in  that  room  but  an  hour,  and 
when  I  come  here  I  am  well.  But  the  nights  too, 
Alessandro  ?  Is  it  riot  harmful  to  sleep  out  in  the 
night  air  ? " 

"  Why,  Senorita  ? "  asked  Alessandro,  simply. 

And  Ramona  had  no  answer,  except,  "  I  do  not 
know  ;  I  have  always  heard  so." 

"  My  people  do  not  think  so,"  replied  Alessandro  ; 
"  unless  it  is  cold,  we  like  it  better.  It  is  good, 
Senorita,  to  look  up  at  the  sky  in  the  night." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be,"  cried  Ramona.  "  I 
never  thought  of  it.  I  should  like  to  do  it." 

Alessandro  was  busy,  with  his  face  bent  down, 
arranging  the  bedstead  in  a  sheltered  corner  of  the 
veranda.  If  his  face  had  been  lifted,  Ramona  would 
have  seen  a  look  on  it  that  would  have  startled  her 
more  than  the  one  she  had  surprised  a  few  days  pre 
vious,  after  the  incident  with  Margarita.  All  day 
there  had  been  coming  and  going  in  Alessandro's 
brain  a  confused  procession  of  thoughts,  vague  yet 
intense.  Put  in  words,  they  would  have  been  found 
to  be  little  more  than  ringing  changes  on  this  idea  : 


RAMONA.  131 

"The  Scflorita  Ramona  has  Indian  blood  in  her 
veins.  The  Senorita  Ramona  is  alone.  The  Senora 
loves  her  not.  Indian  blood  !  Indian  blood !  "  These, 
or  something  like  them,  would  have  been  the  words  ; 
but  Alessandro  did  not  put  them  in  words.  He  only 
worked  away  on  the  rough  posts  for  Seiior  Felipe's 
bedstead,  hammered,  fitted,  stretched  the  raw-hide 
and  made  it  tight  and  firm,  driving  every  nail,  strik 
ing  every  blow,  with  a  bounding  sense  of  exultant 
strength,  as  if  there  were  suddenly  all  around  him 
a  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth. 

Now,  when  he  heard  Earnona  say  suddenly  in  her 
girlish,  eager  tone,  "  It  must  be ;  I  never  thought 
of  it ;  I  should  like  to  try  it,"  these  vague  confused 
thoughts  of  the  day,  and  the  day's  bounding  sense  of 
exultant  strength,  combined  in  a  quick  vision  before 
Alessandro's  eyes,  —  a  vision  of  starry  skies  overhead, 
Ramona  and  himself  together,  looking  up  to  them. 
But  when  he  raised  his  head,  all  he  said  was,  "  There, 
Senorita  !  That  is  all  firm,  now.  If  Seiior  Felipe  will 
let  me  lay  him  on  this  bed,  he  will  sleep  as  he  has 
not  slept  since  he  fell  ill." 

Ramona  ran  eagerly  into  Felipe's  room.  "  The  bed 
is  all  ready  on  the  veranda,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Shall 
Alessandro  come  in  and  carry  you  out  ?  " 

Felipe  looked  up,  startled.  The  Senora  turned  on 
Ramoua  that  expression  of  gentle,  resigned  displeas 
ure,  which  always  hurt  the  girl's  sensitive  nature  far 
worse  than  anger.  "  I  had  not  spoken  to  Felipe  yet 
of  the  change,  Ramona,"  she  said.  "  I  supposed  that 
Alessandro  would  have  informed  me  when  the  bed 
was  ready ;  I  am  sorry  you  came  in  so  suddenly. 
Felipe  is  still  very  weak,  you  see." 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ? "  exclaimed  Felipe,  im 
patiently. 

As  soon  as  it  was  explained  to  him,  he  was  like  a 
child  in  his  haste  to  be  moved. 


132  RAM  ON  A. 

"  That 's  just  what  T  needed ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  This 
cursed  bed  racks  every  bone  in  my  body,  and  I  have 
longed  for  the  sun  more  than  ever  a  thirsty  man 
longed  for  water.  Bless  you,  Alessandro,"  he  went' 
on,  seeing  Alessandro  in  the  doorway.  "  Come  here, 
and  take  me  up  in  those  long  arms  of  yours,  and 
carry  me  quick.  Already  I  feel  myself  better." 

Alessandro  lifted  him  as  if  he  were  a  baby ;  in 
deed,  it  was  but  a  light  burden  now,  Felipe's  wasted 
body,  for  a  man  much  less  strong  than  Alessaudro  to 
lift. 

Eamona,  chilled  and  hurt,  ran  in  advance,  carrying 
pillows  and  blankets.  As  she  began  to  arrange  them 
on  the  couch,  the  Senora  took  them  from  her  hands, 
saying,  "  I  will  arrange  them  myself ; "  and  waved 
Eamona  away. 

It  was  a  little  thing.  Eamona  was  well  used  to 
such.  Ordinarily  it  would  have  given  her  no  pain 
she  could  not  conceal.  But  the  girl's  nerves  were 
not  now  in  equilibrium.  She  had  had  hard  work  to 
keep  back  her  tears  at  the  first  rebuff.  This  second 
was  too  much.  She  turned,  arid  walked  swiftly  away, 
the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

Alessandro  saw  it ;  Felipe  saw  it. 

To  Felipe  the  sight  was,  though  painful,  not  a  sur 
prise.  He  knew  but  too  well  how  often  his  mother 
hurt  Eamona.  All  he  thought  now,  in  his  weakness, 
was,  "  Alas !  what  a  pity  my  mother  does  not  love 
Eamona ! " 

To  Alessandro  the  sight  was  the  one  drop  too 
much  in  the  cup.  As  he  stooped  to  lay  Felipe  on 
the  bed,  he  trembled  so  that  Felipe  looked  up,  half 
afraid. 

"Am  I  still  so  heavy,  Alessandro ?"  he  said,  smiling. 

"It  is  not  your  weight,  Sefior  Felipe,"  answered 
Alessandro,  off  guard,  still  trembling,  his  eyes  follow 
ing  Eamona. 


RAMONA.  133 

Felipe  saw.  In  the  next  second,  the  eyes  of  the 
two  young  men  met.  Alessandro's  fell  before  Felipe's. 
Felipe  gazed  on,  steadily,  at  Alessandro. 

"Ah!"  he  said;  and  as  he  said  it,  he  closed  his  eyes, 
and  let  his  head  sink  back  into  the  pillow. 

"  Is  that  comfortable  ?  Is  that  right  ? "  asked  the 
Senora,  who  had  seen  nothing. 

"  The  first  comfortable  moment  I  have  had,  mother," 
said  Felipe.  "  Stay,  Alessandro.  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  as  soon  as  I  am  rested.  This  move  has  shaken 
me  up  a  good  deal.  Wait." 

"  Yes,  Seiior,"  replied  Alessandro,  and  seated  him 
self  on  the  veranda  steps. 

"  If  you  are  to  stay,  Alessandro,"  said  the  Senora, 
"  I  will  go  and  look  after  some  matters  that  need  my 
attention.  I  feel  always  at  ease  about  Senor  Felipe 
when  you  are  with  him.  You  will  stay  till  I  come 
back?" 

"Yes,  Senora,"  said  Alessandro,  in  a  tone  cold  as 
the  Senora's  own  had  been  to  Eamona.  He  was  no 
longer  in  heart  the  Senora  Moreno's  servant.  In 
fact,  he  was  at  that  very  moment  revolving  con 
fusedly  in  his  mind  whether  there  could  be  any 
possibility  of  his  getting  away  before  the  expiration 
of  the  time  for  which  he  had  agreed  to  stay. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Felipe  opened  his  eyes. 
Alessandro  thought  he  was  asleep. 

At  last  Felipe  spoke.  He  had  been  watching  Ales 
sandro's  face  for  some  minutes.  "  Alessandro,"  he 
said. 

Alessandro  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  walked  swiftly 
to  the  bedside.  He  did  not  know  what  the  next  word 
might  be.  He  felt  that  the  Senor  Felipe  had  seen 
straight  into  his  heart  in  that  one  moment's  look,  and 
Alessandro  was  prepared  for  anything. 

"  Alessandro,"  said  Felipe,  "  my  mother  has  been 
speaking  to  me  about  your  remaining  with  us  perma- 


134  RAM  ON  A. 

nently.  Juan  Can  is  now  very  old,  and  after  this 
accident  will  go  on  crutches  the  rest  of  his  days,  poor 
soul !  We  are  in  great  need  of  some  man  who  under 
stands  sheep,  and  the  care  of  the  place  generally." 

As  he  spoke,  he  watched  Alessandro's  face  closely. 
Swift  changing  expressions  passed  over  it.  Surprise 
predominated.  Felipe  misunderstood  the  surprise. 
"I  knew  you  would  be  surprised,"  he  said.  "I  told 
my  mother  that  you  would  not  think  of  it ;  that  you 
had  stayed  now  only  because  we  were  in  trouble." 

Alessandro  bowed  his  head  gratefully.  This  recog 
nition  from  Felipe  gave  him  pleasure. 

"  Yes,  Senor,"  he  said,  "  that  was  it.  I  told  Father 
Salvierderra  it  was  not  for  the  wages.  But  my  father 
and  I  have  need  of  all  the  money  we  can  earn.  Our 
people  are  very  poor,  Senor.  I  do  not  know  whether 
my  father  would  think  I  ought  to  take  the  place  you 
offer  me,  or  not,  Senor.  It  would  be  as  he  said.  I 
will  ask  him." 

"  Then  you  would  be  willing  to  take  it  ? "  asked 
Felipe. 

"  Yes,  Senor,  if  my  father  wished  me  to  take  it," 
replied  Alessandro,  looking  steadily  and  gravely  at 
Felipe  ;  adding,  after  a  second's  pause,  "if  you  are 
sure  that  you  desire  it,  Senor  Felipe,  it  would  be  a 
pleasure  to  me  to  be  of  help  to  you." 

And  yet  it  was  only  a  few  moments  ago  that  Ales 
sandro  had  been  turning  over  in  his  mind  the  possi 
bility  of  leaving  the  Senora  Moreno's  service  imme 
diately.  This  change  had  not  been  a  caprice,  not 
been  an  impulse  of  passionate  desire  to  remain  near 
liamona;  it  had  come  from  a  sudden  consciousness 
that  the  Senor  Felipe  would  be  his  friend.  And 
Alessandro  was  not  mistaken. 


IX. 


TTTHEN  the  Senora  came  back  to  the  veranda, 
VV  she  found  Felipe  asleep,  Alessandro  standing 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  his  arms  crossed  on 
his  breast,  watching  him.  As  the  Senora  drew  near, 
Alessandro  felt  again  the  same  sense  of  dawning 
hatred  which  had  seized  him  at  her  harsh  speech  to 
Eamona.  He  lowered  his  eyes,  and  waited  to  be 
dismissed. 

"  You  can  go  now,  Alessandro,"  said  the  Senora. 
"  I  will  sit  here.  You  are  quite  sure  that  it  will  be 
safe  for  Sefior  Felipe  to  sleep  here  all  night  ? " 

"  It  will  cure  him  before  many  nights,"  replied 
Alessandro,  still  without  raising  his  eyes,  and  turning 
to  go. 

"  Stay,"  said  the  Senora.  Alessandro  paused.  "  It 
will  not  do  for  him  to  be  alone  here  in  the  night, 
Alessandro." 

Alessandro  had  thought  of  this,  and  had  remem 
bered  that  if  he  lay  on  the  veranda  floor  by  Senor 
Felipe's  side,  he  would  also  lie  under  the  Senorita's 
window. 

"  No,  Senora."  he  replied.  "  I  will  lie  here  by  his 
side.  That  was  what  I  had  thought,  if  the  Senora  is 
willing." 

"  Thank  you,  Alessandro,"  said  the  Senora,  in  a 
tone  which  would  have  surprised  poor  Ranioua,  still 
sitting  alone  in  her  room,  with  sad  eyes.  She  did  not 
know  the  Senora  could  speak  thus  sweetly  to  any 
one  but  Felipe.  "  Thank  you  !  You  are  kind.  I  will 
have  a  bed  made  for  you." 


1C6  RAMON  A. 

"  Oil,  no  ! "  cried  Alessandro  ;  "  if  the  Sefiora  will 
excuse  me,  I  could  not  lie  on  a  bed.  A  raw-hide  like 
Sefior  Felipe's,  and  my  blanket,  are  all  I  want.  I 
could  not  lie  on  any  bed." 

"  To  be  sure,"  thought  the  Senora ;  "  what  was  I 
thinking  of !  How  the  boy  makes  one  forget  he  is  an 
Indian !  But  the  floor  is  harder  than  the  ground, 
Alessandro,"  she  said  kindly. 

"  No,  Senora,"  he  said,  "it  is  all  one ;  and  to-night 
I  will  not  sleep.  I  will  watch  Sefior  Felipe,  in  case 
there  should  be  a  wind,  or  he  should  wake  and  need 
something." 

"  I  will  watch  him  myself  till  midnight,"  said  the 
Senora.  "  I  should  feel  easier  to  see  how  he  sleeps  at 
first." 

It  was  the  balmiest  of  summer  nights,  and  as  still 
as  if  no  living  thing  were  on  the  earth.  There  was  a 
full  moon,  which  shone  on  the  garden,  and  on  the 
white  front  of  the  little  chapel  among  the  trees. 
Ramona,  from  her  window,  saw  Alessandro  pacing  up 
and  down  the  walk.  She  had  seen  him  spread  down 
the  raw-hide  by  Felipe's  bed,  and  had  seen  the  Senora 
take  her  place  in  one  of  the  big  carved  chairs.  She 
wondered  if  they  were  both  going  to  watch ;  she 
wondered  why  the  Senora  would  never  let  her  sit  up 
and  watch  with  Felipe. 

"I  am  not  of  any  use  to  anybody,"  she  thought 
sadly.  She  dared  not  go  out  and  ask  any  questions 
about  the  arrangements  for  the  night.  At  supper  the 
Senora  had  spoken  to  her  only  in  the  same  cold  and 
distant  manner  which  always  made  her  dumb  and 
afraid.  She  had  not  once  seen  Felipe  alone  during  the 
day.  Margarita,  who,  in  the  former  times,  — *ih,  how 
far  away  those  former  times  looked  now  !  —  had  been 
a  greater  comfort  to  Ramona  than  she  realized,  —  Mar 
garita  now  was  sulky  and  silent,  never  came  into 
Ramona' s  presence  if  she  could  help  it,  and  looked  at 


RAM  ON  A.  137 

her  sometimes  with  an  expression  which  made  Ramona 
tremble,  and  say  to  herself,  "  She  hates  me.  She  has 
always  hated  me  since  that  morning." 

It  had  been  a  long,  sad  day  to  Ramona ;  and  as  she 
sat  in  her  window  leaning  her  head  against  the  sash, 
and  looked  at  Alessandro  pacing  up  arid  down,  she 
felt  for  the  first  time,  and  did  not  shrink  from  it  nor 
in  any  wise  disavow  or  disguise  it  to  herself,  that  she 
was  glad  he  loved  her.  More  than  this  she  did  not 
think;  beyond  this  she  did  not  go.  Her  mind  was 
not  like  Margarita's,  full  of  fancies  bred  of  freedom 
in  intercourse  with  men.  But  distinctly,  tenderly 
glad  that  Alessandro  loved  her,  and  distinctly,  tenderly 
aware  how  well  he  loved  her,  she  was,  as  she  sat  at 
her  window  this  night,  looking  out  into  the  moonlit 
garden ;  after  she  had  gone  to  bed,  she  could  still 
hear  his  slow,  regular  steps  on  the  garden-walk,  and 
the  last  thought  she  had,  as  she  fell  asleep,  was  that 
she  was  glad  Alessandro  loved  her. 

The  moon  had  been  long  set,  and  the  garden,  chapel- 
front,  trees,  vines,  were  all  wrapped  in  impenetrable 
darkness,  when  Ramona  awoke,  sat  up  in  her  bed,  and 
listened.  All  was  so  still  that  the  sound  of  Felipe's 
low,  regular  breathing  came  in  through  her  open  win 
dow.  After  hearkening  to  it  for  a  few  moments,  she 
rose  noiselessly  from  her  bed,  and  creeping  to  the 
window  parted  the  curtains  and  looked  out ;  noise 
lessly,  she  thought ;  but  it  was  not  noiselessly  enough 
to  escape  Alessandro's  quick  ear ;  without  a  sound, 
he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  stood  looking  at  Ramona's 
window. 

"  I  am  here,  Senorita,"  he  whispered.  "  Do  you 
want  anything  ? " 

"  Has  he  slept  all  night  like  this  ?  "  she  whispered 
back. 

"  Yes,  Senorita.     He  has  not  once  moved." 

"  How  good  ! "  said  Ramona.     "  How  good  ! " 


138  RAMON  A. 

Then  she  stood  still ;  she  wanted  to  speak  again  to 
Alessandro,  to  hear  him  speak  again,  but  she  could 
think  of  no  more  to  say.  Because  she  could  not,  she 
gave  a  little  sigh. 

Alessandro  took  one  swift  step  towards  the  window. 
"  May  the  saints  bless  you,  Senorita,"  he  whispered 
fervently. 

"  Thank  you,  Alessandro,"  murmured  Eamona,  and 
glided  back  to  her  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  It  lacked 
not  much  of  dawn;  as  the  first  faint  light  filtered 
through  the  darkness,  Eamona  heard  the  Senora's 
window  open. 

"  Surely  she  will  not  strike  up  the  hymn  and  wake 
Felipe,"  thought  Eamona ;  and  she  sprang  again  to 
the  window  to  listen.  A  few  low  words  between  the 
Senora  and  Alessandro,  and  then  the  Senora's  window 
closed  again,  and  all  was  still. 

"  I  thought  she  would  not  have  the  heart  to  wake 
him,"  said  Eamona  to  herself.  "  The  Virgin  would 
have  had  no  pleasure  in  our  song,  I  am  sure ;  but  I 
will  say  a  prayer  to  her  instead ; "  and  she  sank  on 
her  knees  at  the  head  of  her  bed,  and  began  say 
ing  a  whispered  prayer.  The  footfall  of  a  spider  in 
Eamona's  room  had  not  been  light  enough  to  escape 
the  ear  of  that  watching  lover  outside.  Again  Ales- 
sandro's  tall  figure  arose  from  the  floor,  turning  to 
wards  Eamona's  window ;  and  now  the  darkness  was 
so  far  softened  to  dusk,  that  the  outline  of  his  form 
could  be  seen.  Eamona  felt  it  rather  than  saw  it, 
and  stopped  praying.  Alessandro  was  sure  he  had 
heard  her  voice. 

"  Did  the  Senorita  speak  ? "  he  whispered,  his  face 
close  at  the  curtain.  Eamona,  startled,  dropped  her 
rosary,  which  rattled  as  it  fell  on  the  wooden 
floor. 

"  No,  no,  Alessandro,"  she  said,  "  I  did  not  speak." 
And  she  trembled,  she  knew  not  why.  The  sound  of 


EAMONA.  130 

the  beads  on  the  floor  explained  to  Alessandro  what 
had  been  the  whispered  words  he  heard. 

"  She  was  at  her  prayers,"  he  thought,  ashamed  and 
sorry.  "Forgive  me,"  he  whispered,  "I  thought  you 
called;"  and  he  stepped  back  to  the  outer  edge  of 
the  veranda,  and  seated  himself  on  the  railing.  He 
would  lie  down  no  more.  Eamona  remained  on  her 
knees,  gazing  at  the  window.  Through  the  transpar 
ent  muslin  curtain  the  dawning  light  came  slowly, 
steadily,  till  at  last  she  could  see  Alessandro  dis 
tinctly.  Forgetful  of  all  else,  she  knelt  gazing  at 
him.  The  rosary  lay  on  the  floor,  forgotten.  Eamona 
would  not  finish  that  prayer,  that  day.  But  her 
heart  was  full  of  thanksgiving  and  gratitude,  and 
the  Madonna  had  a  better  prayer  than  any  in  the 
book. 

The  sun  was  up,  and  the  canaries,  finches,  and 
linnets  had  made  the  veranda  ring  with  joyous  racket, 
before  Felipe  opened  his  eyes.  The  Senora  had  come 
and  gone  and  come  again,  looking  at  him  anxiously, 
but  he  stirred  not.  Eamona  had  stolen  timidly  out, 
glancing  at  Alessandro  only  long  enough  to  give  him 
one  quick  smile,  and  bent  over  Felipe's  bed,  holding 
her  breath,  he  lay  so  still. 

"  Ought  he  to  sleep  so  long  ? "  she  whispered. 

"  Till  the  noon,  it  may  be,"  answered  Alessandro ; 
"  and  when  he  wakes,  you  will  see  by  his  eye  that 
he  is  another  man." 

It  was  indeed  so.  When  Felipe  first  looked  about 
him,  he  laughed  outright  with  pure  pleasure.  Then 
catching  sight  of  Alessandro  at  the  steps,  he  called, 
in  a  stronger  voice  than  had  yet  been  heard  from 
him, "  Alessandro,  you  are  a  famous  physician.  Why 
could  n't  that  fool  from  Ventura  have  known  as 
much  ?  With  all  his  learning,  he  had  had  me  in  the 
next  world  before  many  days,  except  for  you.  Now, 
Alessaudro,  breakfast !  I  am  hungry.  I  had  forgot- 


140  RAMONA. 

ten  what  the  thought  of  food  was  like  to  a  hungry 
stomach.  And  plenty  !  plenty  ! "  he  called,  as  Ales- 
sandro  ran  toward  the  kitchen.  "  Bring  all  they 
have." 

When  the  Senora  saw  Felipe  bolstered  up  in  the 
bed,  his  eye  bright,  his  color  good,  his  voice  clear, 
eating  heartily  like  his  old  self,  she  stood  like  a  statue 
in  the  middle  of  the  veranda  for  a  moment ;  then 
turning  to  Alessandro,  she  said  chokingly,  "  May 
Heaven  reward  you!"  and  disappeared  abruptly  in  her 
own  room.  When  she  came  out,  her  eyes  were  red. 
All  day  she  moved  and  spoke  with  a  softness  un 
wonted,  indeed  inconceivable.  She  even  spoke 
kindly  and  without  constraint  to  Ramona.  She  fell 
like  one  brought  back  from  the  dead. 

After  this,  a  new  sort  of  life  began  for  them  all. 
Felipe's  bed  on  the  veranda  was  the  rallying  point 
for  everything  and  everybody.  The  servants  came  to 
look  up  at  him,  and  wish  him  well,  from  the  garden- 
walk  below.  Juan  Can,  when  he  first  hobbled  out 
on  the  stout  crutches  Alessandro  had  made  him  of 
manzanitta  wood,  dragged  himself  all  the  way  round 
the  house,  to  have  a  look  at  Senor  Felipe  and  a  word 
with  him.  'The  Senora  sat  there,  in  the  big  carved 
chair,  looking  like  a  sibyl  with  her  black  silk  banded 
head-dress  severely  straight  across  her  brow,  and  her 
large  dark  eyes  gazing  out,  past  Felipe,  into  the  far 
south  sky.  Eamona  lived  there  too,  with  her  em 
broidery  or  her  book,  sitting  on  cushions  on  the  floor 
in  a  corner,  or  at  the  foot  of  Felipe's  bed,  always 
so  placed,  however,  —  if  anybody  had  noticed,  but 
nobody  did, —  so  placed  that  she  could  look  at  Felipe 
without  looking  full  at  the  Senora's  chair,  even  if  the 
Senora  were  not  in  it. 

Here  also  came  Alessandro  many  times  a  day, — 
sometimes  sent  for,  sometimes  of  his  own  accord. 
He  was  freely  welcome.  When  he  played  or  sang, 


RAMON  A.  1-41 

he  sat  on  the  upper  step  of  the  stairs  leading  down 
to  the  garden.  He  also  had  a  secret,  which  he 
thought  all  his  own,  in  regard  to  the  positions  he 
chose.  He  sat  always,  when  lianioua  was  there,  in  the 
spot  which  best  commanded  a  view  of  her  face.  The 
secret  was  not  all  his  own.  Felipe  knew  it.  Noth 
ing  was  escaping  Felipe  in  these  days.  A  bomb 
shell  exploding  at  their  feet  would  not  have  more 
astonished  the  different  members  of  this  circle, 
the  Senora,  Itamona,  Alessandro,  than  it  would  to 
have  been  made  suddenly  aware  of  the  thoughts 
which  were  going  on  in  Felipe's  mind  now,  from 
day  to  day,  as  he  lay  there  placidly  looking  at 
them  all. 

It  is  probable  that  if  Felipe  had  been  in  full  health 
and  strength  when  the  revelation  suddenly  came  to 
him  that  Alessandro  loved  Ramona,  and  that  Ramona 
might  love  Alessandro,  he  would  have  been  instantly 
filled  with  jealous  antagonism.  But  at  the  time 
when  this  revelation  came,  he  was  prostrate,  feeble, 
thinking  many  times  a  day  that  he  must  soon  die ; 
it  did  not  seem  to  Felipe  that  a  man  could  be  so 
weak  as  he  was,  and  ever  again  be  strong  and  well. 
Side  by  side  with  these  forebodings  of  his  own  death. 

«/  o 

always  came  the  thought  of  Ramona.  What  would 
become  of  her,  if  he  were  gone  ?  Only  too  well  he 
knew  that  the  girl's  heart  would  be  broken  ;  that  she 
could  not  live  on  alone  with  his  mother.  Felipe 
adored  his  mother;  but  he  understood  her  feeling 
about  Ramona. 

With  his  feebleness  had  also  come  to  Felipe,  as  is 
often  the  case  in  long  illnesses,  a  greater  clearness  of 
perception.  Eamona  had  ceased  to  puzzle  him.  He 
no  longer  asked  himself  what  her  long,  steady  look 
into  his  eyes  meant.  He  knew.  He  saw  it  meant 
that  as  a  sister  she  loved  him,  had  always  loved  him, 
and  could  love  him  in  no  other  way.  He  wondered 


142  RAM  ON  A. 

a  little  at  himself  that  this  gave  him  no  more  pain ; 
only  a,  sort  of  sweet,  mournful  tenderness  towards 
her.  It  must  be  because  he  was  so  soon  going  out 
of  the  world,  he  thought.  Presently  he  began  to  be 
aware  that  a  new  quality  was  coming  into  his  love 
for  her.  He  himself  was  returning  to  the  brother 
love  which  he  had  had  for  her  when  they  were 
children  together,  and  in  which  he  had  felt  no  change 
until  he  became  a  man  and  Ramona  a  woman. 
It  was  strange  what  a  peace  fell  upon  Felipe  when 
this  was  finally  clear  and  settled  in  his  mind.  No 
doubt  lie  had  had  more  misgiving  and  fear  about  his 
mother  in  the  matter  than  he  had  ever  admitted  to 
himself ;  perhaps  also  the  consciousness  of  Ramona's 
unfortunate  birth  had  rankled  at  times  ;  but  all  this 
was  past  now.  Ramona  was  his  sister.  He  was  her 
brother.  What  course  should  he  pursue  in  the  crisis 
which  he  saw  drawing  near  ?  How  could  he  best 
help  Ramona  ?  What  would  be  best  for  both  her  and 
Alessandro  ?  Long  before  the  thought  of  any  possible 
union  between  himself  and  Ramona  had  entered  into 
Alessandro's  mind,  still  longer  before  it  had  entered  into 
Ramona's  to  think  of  Alessandro  as  a  husband,  Felipe 
had  spent  hours  in  forecasting,  plotting,  and  planning 
for  them.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  him 
self  in  the  dark  as  to  his  mother's  probable  action. 
That  any  concern  as  to  Ramona's  personal  happiness  or 
welfare  would  influence  her,  he  knew  better  than  to 
think  for  a  moment.  So  far  as  that  was  concerned, 
Ramona  might  wander  out  the  next  hour,  wife  of  a 
homeless  beggar,  and  his  mother  would  feel  no  regret. 
But  Ramona  had  been  the  adopted  daughter  of  the 
Senora  Ortegna,  bore  the  Ortegua  name,  and  had 
lived  as  foster-child  in  the  house  of  the  Morenos. 
Would  the  Senora  permit  such  a  one  to  marry  an 
Indian  ? 

Felipe  doubted.     The  longer  he  thought,  the  more 


RAMONA.  143 

lie  doubted.  The  more  he  watched,  tlie  more  he  saw 
that  the  question  might  soon  have  to  be  decided. 
Any  hour  might  precipitate  it.  He  made  plan  after 
plan  for  forestalling  trouble,  for  preparing  his  mother  ; 
but  Felipe  was  by  nature  indolent,  and  now  he  was, 
in  addition,  feeble.  Day  after  day  slipped  by.  It 
was  exceedingly  pleasant  on  the  veranda.  Ramona 
was  usually  with  him  ;  his  mother  was  gentler,  less 
sad,  than  he  had  ever  seen  her.  Alessandro  was  al 
ways  at  hand,  ready  for  any  service, —  in  the  field,  in 
the  house,  —  his  music  a  delight,  his  strength  and 
fidelity  a  repose,  his  personal  presence  always  agree 
able.  "  If  only  my  mother  could  think  it,"  reflected 
Felipe,  "  it  would  be  the  best  thing,  all  round,  to  have 
Alessandro  stay  here  as  overseer  of  the  place,  and 
then  they  might  be  married.  Perhaps  before  the  sum 
mer  is  over  she  will  come  to  see  it  so." 

And  the  delicious,  languid,  semi-tropic  summer  came 
hovering  over  the  valley.  The  apricots  turned  golden, 
the  peaches  glowed,  the  grapes  filled  and  hardened, 
like  opaque  emeralds  hung  thick  under  the  canopied 
vines.  The  garden  was  a  shade  brown,  and  the  roses 
had  all  fallen  ;  but  there  were  lilies,  and  orange-blos 
soms,  and  poppies,  and  carnations,  and  geraniums  in 
the  pots,  and  musk, — oh,  yes,  ever  and  always  musk. 
It  was  like  a,n  enchanter's  spell,  the  knack  the  Senora 
had  of  forever  keeping  relays  of  musk  to  bloom  all 
the  year;  and  it  was  still  more  like  an  enchanter's 
spell,  that  Felipe  would  never  confess  that  he  hated 
it.  But  the  bees  liked  it,  and  the  humming-birds,  — • 
the  butterflies  also  ;  and  the  air  was  full  of  them.' 
The  veranda  \vas  a  quieter  place  now  as  the  season's 
noon  grew  near.  The  linnets  were  all  nesting,  and 
the  finches  and  the  canaries  too  ;  and  the  Senora  spent 
hours,  every  day,  tirelessly  feeding  the  mothers.  The 
vines  had  all  grown  and  spread  out  to  their  thickest ; 
no  need  any  longer  of  the  gay  blanket  Alessandro 


144  RAM  ON  A. 

had  pinned  up  that  first  morning  to  keep  the  sun  off 
Felipe's  head. 

What  was  the  odds  between  a  to-day  and  a  to 
morrow  in  such  a  spot  as  this  ?  "  To-morrow;'  said 
Felipe,  "  I  will  speak  to  my  mother,"  and  "  to-mor 
row,"  and  "  to-morrow  ; "  but  he  did  not. 

There  was  one  close  observer  of  these  pleasant 
veranda  days  that  Felipe  knew  nothing  about. 
That  was  Margarita.  As  the  girl  came  and  went 
about  her  household  tasks,  she  was  always  on  the 
watch  for  Alessandro,  on  the  watch  for  Ramoua. 
She  was  biding  her  time.  Just  what  shape  her  re 
venge  was  going  to  take,  she  did  not  know.  It  was 
no  use  plotting.  It  must  be  as  it  fell  out ;  but  that 
the  hour  and  the  way  for  her  revenge  would  come, 
she  never  doubted. 

When  she  saw  the  group  on  the  veranda,  as  she 
often  did,  all  listening  to  Alessandro's  violin,  or  to 
his  singing,  Alessandro  himself  now  at  his  ease  and 
free  in  the  circle,  as  if  he  had  been  there  always,  her 
anger  was  almost  beyond  bounds. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  like  a  member  of  the  family  ;  quite  so  !  " 
she  sneered.  "  It  is  new  times  when  a  head  shepherd 
spends  his  time  with  the  ladies  of  the  house,  and  sits 
in  their  presence  like  a  guest  who  is  invited !  We 
shall  see  ;  we  shall  see  what  comes  of  all  .this  ! "  And 
she  knew  not  which  she  hated  the  more  of  the  two, 
Alessandro  or  Ramona. 

Since  the  day  of  the  scene  at  the  artichoke-field 
she  had  never  spoken  to  Alessandro,  and  had  avoided, 
',o  fai  as  was  possible,  seeing  him.  At  first  Alessan 
dro  was  sorry  for  this,  and  tried  to  be  friendly  with 
her.  As  soon  as  he  felt  assured  that  the  incident  had 
not  hurt  him  at  all  in  the  esteem  of  Ramona,  he  began 
to  be  sorry  for  Margarita.  "  A  man  should  not  be 
rude  to  any  maiden,"  he  thought ;  and  he  hated  to  re 
member  how  he  had  pushed  Margarita  from  him,  and 


*  RAMON  A.  145 

snatched  his  hand  away,  when  he  had  in  the  outset 
made  no  objection  to  her  taking  it.  But  Margarita's 
resentment  was  not  to  be  appeased.  She  understood 
only  too  clearly  how  little  Alessandro's  gentle  ad 
vances  meant,  and  she  would  none  of  them.  "  Let  him 
go  to  his  Sefiorita,"  she  said  bitterly,  mocking  the 
reverential  tone  in  which  she  had  overheard  him  pro 
nounce  the  word.  "  She  is  fond  enough  of  him,  if 
only  the  fool  had  eyes  to  see  it.  She  11  be  ready  to 
throw  herself  at  his  head  before  long,  if  this  kind  of 
thing  keeps  up.  '  It  is  not  well  to  speak  thus  freely 
of  young  men,  Margarita ! '  Ha,  ha  !  Little  1 
thought  that  day  which  way  the  wind  set  in  my 
mistress's  temper !  I  '11  wager  she  reproves  me  no 
more,  under  this  roof  or  any  other !  Curse  her  !  What 
did  she  want  of  Alessandro,  except  to  turn  his  head, 
and  then  bid  him  go  his  way  !  " 

To  do  Margarita  justice,  she  never  once  dreamed 
of  the  possibility  of  Kamoiia's  wedding  Alessandro. 
A  clandestine  affair,  an  intrigue  of  more  or  less  in 
tensity,  such  as  she  herself  might  have  carried  on 
with  any  one  of  the  shepherds,  —  this  was  the  utmost 
stretch  of  Margarita's  angry  imaginations  in  regard 
to  her  young  mistress's  liking  for  Alessandro.  There 
was  not,  in  her  way  of  looking  at  things,  any  impos 
sibility  of  such  a  thing  as  that.  But  marriage  !  It 
might  be  questioned  whether  that  idea  would  have 
been  any  more  startling  to  the  Senora  herself  than  to 
Margarita. 

Little  had  passed  between  Alessandro  and  Eamona 
which  Margarita  did  not  know.  The  girl  was  always 
like  a  sprite,  —  here,  there,  everywhere,  in  an  hour, 
and  with  eyes  which,  as  her  mother  often  told  her, 
saw  on  all  sides  of  her  head.  Now,  fired  by  her  new 
purpose,  new  passion,  she  moved  swifter  than  ever, 
and  saw  and  heard  even  more.  There  were  few  hours 
of  any  day  when  she  did  not  know  to  a  certainty 

10 


146  RAMGNA. 

where  both  Alessandro  and  Eamona  were ;  and  there 
had  been  few  meetings  between  them  which  she  had 
not  either  seen  or  surmised. 

In  the  simple  life  of  such  a  household  as  the 
Seiiora's,  it  was  not  strange  that  this  was  possible ; 
nevertheless,  it  argued  and  involved  untiring  vigi 
lance  on  Margarita's  part.  Even  Felipe,  who  thought 
himself,  from  his  vantage-post  of  observation  on  tho 
veranda,  and  from  his  familiar  relation  with  Eamona, 
well  informed  of  most  that  happened,  would  have 
been  astonished  to  hear  all  that  Margarita  could  have 
told  him.  In  the  first  days  Eamona  herself  had 
guilelessly  told  him  much,  —  had  told  him  how  Ales 
sandro,  seeing  her  trying  to  sprinkle  and  bathe  and 
keep  alive  the  green  ferns  with  which  she  had  deco 
rated  the  chapel  for  Father  Salvierderra's  coming,  had 
said  :  "  Oh,  Senorita,  they  are  dead  !  Do  not  take 
trouble  with  them  !  I  will  bring  you  fresh  ones  ; " 
and  the  next  morning  she  had  found,  lying  at  the 
chapel  door,  a  pile  of  such  ferns  as  she  had  never 
before  seen  ;  tall  ones,  like  ostrich-plumes,  six  and 
eight  feet  high  ;  the  feathery  maiden-hair,  and  the 
gold  fern,  and  the  silver,  twice  as  large  as  she  ever 
had  found  them.  The  chapel  was  beautiful,  like  a 
conservatory,  after  she  had  arranged  them  in  vases 
and  around  the  high  candlesticks. 

It  was  Alessandro,  too,  who  had  picked  up  in  the 
artichoke-patch  all  of  the  last  year's  seed-vessels 
which  had  not  been  trampled  down  by  the  cattle,  and 
bringing  one  to  her,  had  asked  shyly  if  she  did  not 
think  it  prettier  than  llowers  made  out  of  paper. 
His  people,  he  said,  made  wreaths  of  them.  And 
so  they  were,  more  beautiful  than  any  paper  flow 
ers  which  ever  were  made,  —  great  soft  round  disks 
of  fine  straight  threads  like  silk,  with  a  kind  of 
saint's  halo  around  them  of  sharp,  stiff  points,  glossy 
as  satin,  and  of  a  lovely  creamy  color.  It  was  the 


RAMONA.  147 

strangest  thing  in  the  world  nobody  had  ever  noticed 
them  as 'they  lay  there  on  the  ground.  She  had  put  a 
great  wreath  of  them  around  Saint  Joseph's  head,  and 
a  bunch  in  the  Madonna's  hand  ;  and  when  the  Senora 
saw  them,  she  exclaimed  in  admiration,  and  thought 
they  must  have  been  made  of  silk  and  satin. 

And  Alessandro  had  brought  her  beautiful  baskets, 
made  by  the  Indian  women  at  Pala,  and  one  which 
had  come  from  the  North,  from  the  Tulare  country ; 
it  had  gay  feathers  woven  in  with  the  reeds,  —  red  and 
yellow,  in  alternate  rows,  round  and  round.  It  was 
like  a  basket  made  out  of  a  bright-colored  bird. 

And  a  beautiful  stone  bowl  Alessandro  had  brought 
her,  glossy  black,  that  came  all  the  way  from  Catalina 
Island ;  a  friend  of  Alessandro's  got  it.  For  the  first 
few  weeks  it  had  seemed  as  if  hardly  a  day  passed 
that  there  was  not  some  new  token  to  be  chronicled 
of  Alessandro's  thoughtfulness  and  good-will.  Often, 
too,  Eamona  had  much  to  tell  that  Alessandro  had 
said,  —  tales  of  the  old  Mission  days  that  he  had 
heard  from  his  father ;  stories  of  saints,  and  of  the 
early  Fathers,  who  were  more  like  saints  than  like 
men,  Alessandro  said, — Father  Junipero,  who  founded 
the  first  Missions,  and  Father  Crespi,  his  friend.  Ales 
sandro's  grandfather  had  journeyed  with  Father  Crespi 
as  his  servant,  and  many  a  miracle  he  had  with  his 
own  eyes  seen  Father  Crespi  perform.  There  was  a 
cup  out  of  wThich  the  Father  always  took  his  choco 
late  for  breakfast, — a  beautiful  cup,  which  was  carried 
in  a  box,  the  only  luxury  the  Father  had ;  and  one 
morning  it  was  broken,  and  everybody  was  in  terror 
and  despair.  "  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  said  the 
Father ;  "  I  will  make  it  whole  ; "  and  taking  the  two 
pieces  in  his  hands,  he  held  them  tight  together,  and 
prayed  over  them,  and  they  became  one  solid  piece 
tgain,  and  it  was  used  all  through  the  journey,  just 
as  before. 


148  RAMON  A. 

But  now,  Eamona  never  spoke  voluntarily  of  Ales- 
sandro.  To  Felipe's  sometimes  artfully  put  questions 
or  allusions  to  him,  she  made  brief  replies,  and  never 
continued  the  topic  ;  and  Felipe  had  observed  another 
thing :  she  now  rarely  looked  at  Alessandro.  When 
he  was  speaking  to  others  she  kept  her  eyes  on  the 
ground.  If  he  addressed  her,  she  looked  quickly  up 
at  him,  but  lowered  her  eyes  after  the  first  glance. 
Alessandro  also  observed  this,  and  was  glad  of  it.  He 
understood  it.  He  knew  how  differently  she  could 
look  in  his  face  in  the  rare  moments  when  they  were 
alone  together.  He  fondly  thought  he  alone  knew 
this  ;  but  he  was  mistaken.  Margarita  knew.  She 
had  more  than  once  seen  it. 

It  had  happened  more  than  once  that  he  had  found 
Eamona  at  the  willows  by  the  brook,  and  had  talked 
with  her  there.  The  first  time  it  happened,  it  was  a 
chance  ;  after  that  never  a  chance  again,  for  Alessan 
dro  went  often  seeking  the  spot,  hoping  to  find  her. 
In  Eamona's  mind  too,  not  avowed,  but  half  con 
sciously,  there  was,  if  not  the  hope  of  seeing  him 
there,  at  least  the  memory  that  it  was  there  they  had 
met.  It  was  a  pleasant  spot,  —  cool  and  shady  even 
at  noon,  and  the  running  water  always  full  of  music. 
Eamona  often  knelt  there  of  a  morning,  washing  out 
a  bit  of  lace  or  a  handkerchief;  and  when  Alessandro 
saw  her,  it  went  hard  with  him  to  stay  away.  At 
such  moments  the  vision  returned  to  him  vividly  of 
that  first  night  when,  for  the  first  second,  seeing  her 
face  in  the  sunset  glow,  he  had  thought  her  scarce^ 
mortal.  It  was  not  that  he  even  now  thought  her 
less  a  saint ;  but  ah,  how  well  he  knew  her  to  be 
human  !  He  had  gone  alone  in  the  dark  to  this  spot 
many  a  time,  and,  lying  on  the  grass,  put  his  hands 
into  the  running  water,  and  played  with  it  dreamily, 
thinking,  in  his  poetic  Indian  fashion,  thoughts  like 
these :  "  Whither  have  gone  the  drops  that  passed 


RAMON  A.  149 

beneath  her  hands,  just  here  ?  These  drops  will  never 
find  those  in  the  sea ;  but  I  love  this  water  !  " 

Margarita  had  seen  him  thus  lying,  and  without 
dreaming  of  the  refined  sentiment  which  prompted 
his  action,  had  yet  groped  blindly  towards  it,  think 
ing  to  herself :  "  He  hopes  his  Senorita  will  come 
down  to  him  there.  A  nice  place  it  is  for  a  lady  to 
meet  her  lover,  at  the  washing-stones  !  It  will  take 
swifter  water  than  any  in  that  brook,  Senorita  Ea- 
mona,  to  wash  you  white  in  the  Senora's  eyes,  if  ever 
she  come  upon  you  there  with  the  head  shepherd, 
making  free  with  him,  may  be  !  Oh,  but  if  that  could 
only  happen,  I  'd  die  content ! "  And  the  more  Mar 
garita  watched,  the  more  she  thought  it  not  unlikely 
that  it  might  turn  out  so.  It  was  oftener  at  the  wil 
lows  than  anywhere  else  that  Eamona  and  Alessandro 
met ;  and,  as  Margarita  noticed  with  malicious  sat 
isfaction,  they  talked  each  time  longer,  each  time 
parted  more  lingeringly.  Several  times  it  had  hap 
pened  to  be  near  supper-time ;  and  Margarita,  with 
one  eye  on  the  garden-walk,  had  hovered  restlessly 
near  the  Senora,  hoping  to  be  ordered  to  call  the 
Senorita  to  supper. 

"  If  but  I  could  come  on  them  of  a  sudden,  and 
say  to  her  as  she  did  to  me,  '  You  are  wranted  in  the 
house '  !  Oh,  but  it  would  do  my  soul  good  !  I  'd  say 
it  so  it  would  sting  like  a  lash  laid  on  both  their 
faces  !  It  will  come  !  It  will  come  !  It  will  be 
there  that  she  '11  be  caught  one  of  these  fine  times 
she  's  having  !  I  '11  wait !  It  will  come ! " 


X. 


IT  came.     And  when  it  came,  it  fell  out  worse  for 
Eamona  than  Margarita's  most  malicious  hopes 
had  pictured ;  but  Margarita  had  no  hand  in  it.     It 
was  the  Senora  herself. 

Since  Felipe  had  so  far  gained  as  to  be  able  to  be 
dressed,  sit  in  his  chair  on  the  veranda,  and  walk 
about  the  house  and  garden  a  little,  the  Senora,  at 
ease  in  her  mind  about  him,  had  resumed  her  old 
habit  of  long,  lonely  walks  on  the  place.  It  had  been 
well  said  by  her  servants,  that  there  was  not  a  blade 
of  grass  on  the  estate  that  the  Senora  had  not  seen. 
She  knew  every  inctu^f  her  land.  She  had  a  special 
purpose  in  walking  over  it  now.  She  was  carefully 
examining  to  see  whether  she  could  afford  to  sell  to 
the  Ortegas  a  piece  of  pasture-land  which  they  greatly 
desired  to  buy,  as  it  joined  a  pasturage  tract  of  theirs. 
This  bit  of  land  lay  farther  from  the  house  than  the 
Senora  realized,  and  it  had  taken  more  time  than  she 
thought  it  would,  to  go  ov0r  it ,  and  it  was  already 
sunset  on  this  eventful  day,  when,  hurrying  home, 
she  turned  off  from  the  highway  into  the  same 
snort-cut  path  in  which  Father  Salvierderra  had  met 
,  Eamona  in  the  spring  There  was  no  difficulty 
jnow  in  getting  through  the  mustard  tangle.  It  was 
^parched  and  dry,  and  had  been  trampled  by  cattle. 
The  Senora  walked  rapidly,  but  it  was  dusky  twilight 
when  she  reached  the  willows ;  so  dusky  that  she  saw 
nothing  —  and  she  stepped  so  lightly  on  the*  smooth 
brown  path  that  she  made  no  sound  —  until  sud 
denly,  face  to  face  with  a  man  and  a  woman  standing 


RAMONA.  151 

locked  in  each  other's  arms,  she  halted,  stepped  back 
a  pace,  gave  a  cry  of  surprise,  and,  in  the  same  second, 
recognized  the  faces  of  the  two,  who,  stricken  dumb, 
stood  apart,  each  gazing  into  her  face  with  terror. 

Strangely  enough,  it  was  Earnona  who  spoke  first. 
Terror  for  herself  had  stricken  her  dumb  ;  terror  for 
Alessandro  gave  her  a  voice. 

"Sefiora,"  she  began. 

"  Silence  !  Shameful  creature  !  "  cried  the  Senora. 
"  Do  not  dare  to  speak  !  Go  to  your  room  ! " 

Eamona  did  not  move. 

"  As  for  you,"  the  Senora  continued,  turning  to  Ales 
sandro,  "  you,"  —  she  was  about  to  say,  "  You  are 
discharged  from  my  service  from  this  hour,"  but  recol 
lecting  herself  in  time,  said,  —  "  you  will  answer  to 
Sefior  Felipe.  Out  of  my  sight!"  And  the  Senora 
Moreno  actually,  for  once  in  her  life  beside  herself 
with  rage,  stamped  her  foot  on  the  ground.  "  Out  of 
my  sight !  "  she  repeated. 

Alessandro  did  not  stir,  except  to  turn  towards 
Eamona  with  an  inquiring  look.  He  would  run  no 
risk  of  doing  what  she  did  not  wish.  He  had  no  idea 
what  she  would  think  it  best  to  do  in  this  terrible 
dilemma. 

"  Go,  Alessandro,"  said  Ramona,  calmly,  still  looking 
the  Senora  full  in  the  eye.  Alessandro  obeyed ;  be 
fore  the  words  had  left  her  lips,  he  had  walked  away. 

Eainoua's  composure,  and  Alessandro's  waiting  for 
further  orders  than  her  own  before  stirring  from  the 
spot,  were  too  much  for  Senora  Moreno.  A  wrath, 
such  as  she  had  not  felt  since  she  was  young,  took 
possession  of  her.  As  Eamona  opened  her  lips  again, 
saying,  "  Senora,"  the  Sefiora  did  a  shameful  deed  ; 
she  struck  the  girl  on  the  mouth,  a  cruel  blow. 

"Speak  not  to  me!"  she  cried  again;  and  seizing 
her  by  the  arm,  she  pushed  rather  than  dragged  her 
up  the  garden-walk. 


152  RAMON  A. 

"  Senora,  you  hurt  my  ami,"  said  Ramona,  still  in 
the  same  calm  voice.  "  You  need  not  hold  me.  I 
will  go  with  you.  I  am  not  afraid." 

Was  this  Ramona  ?  The  Senora,  already  ashamed, 
let  go  the  arm,  and  stared  in  the  girl's  face.  Even  in 
the  twilight  she  could  see  upon  it  an  expression  of 
transcendent  peace,  and  a  resolve  of  which  no  one 
would  have  thought  it  capable.  "  What  does  this 
mean  ? "  thought  the  Senora,  still  weak,  and  trem 
bling  all  over,  from  rage.  "  The  hussy,  the  hypocrite ! " 
and  she  seized  the  arm  again. 

This  time  Ramona  did  not  remonstrate,  but  sub 
mitted  to  being  led  like  a  prisoner,  pushed  into  her 
own  room,  the  door  slammed  violently  and  locked  on 
the  outside. 

All  of  which  Margarita  saw.  She  had  known  for 
an  hour  that  Ramona  and  Alessandro  were  at  the  wil 
lows,  and  she  had  been  consumed  with  impatience  at 
the  Senora's  prolonged  absence.  More  than  once  she 
had  gone  to  Felipe,  and  asked  with  assumed  interest 
if  he  were  not  hungry,  and  if  he  and  the  Senorita 
would  not  have  their  supper. 

"  No,  no,  not  till  the  Senora  returns,"  Felipe  had 
answered.  He,  too,  happened  this  time  to  know 
where  Ramona  and  Alessandro  were.  He  knew  also 
where  the  Senora  had  gone,  and  that  she  would  be  late 
home;  but  he  did  not  know  that  there  would  be  any 
chance  of  her  returning  by  way  of  the  willows  at 
the  brook ;  if  he  had  known  it,  he  would  have  con 
trived  to  summon  Ramona. 

When  Margarita  saw  Ramona  shoved  into  her 
room  by  the  pale  and  trembling  Senora,  saw  the  key 
turned,  taken  out,  and  dropped  into  the  Senora's 
pocket,  she  threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  ran 
into  the  back  porch.  Almost  a  remorse  seized  her. 
She  remembered  in  a  flash  how  often  Ramona  had 
helped  her  in  times  gone  by,  —  sheltered  her  from 


RAM  ON  A.  153 

the  Sefiora's  displeasure.  She  recollected  the  torn 
altar-cloth.  "  Holy  Virgin  !  what  will  be  done  to  her 
now  ? "  she  exclaimed,  under  her  breath.  Margarita 
had  never  conceived  of  such  an  extremity  as  this. 
Disgrace,  and  a  sharp  reprimand,  and  a  sundering  of 
all  relations  with  Alessandro, —  this  was  all  Mar 
garita  had  meant  to  draw  down  on  Ramona's  head. 
But  the  Seriora  looked  as  if  she  might  kill  her. 

"  She  always  did  hate  her,  in  her  heart,"  reflected 
Margarita ;  "  she  shan't  starve  her  to  death,  anyhow. 
1  '11  never  stand  by  and  see  that.  But  it  must  have 
been  something  shameful  the  Senora  saw,  to  have 
brought  her  to  such  a  pass  as  this ; "  and  Marga 
rita's  jealousy  again  got  the  better  of  her  sympathy. 
"  Good  enough  for  her.  No  more  than  she  deserved. 
An  honest  fellow  like  Alessandro,  that  would  make  a 
good  husband  for  any  girl!"  Margarita's  short-lived 
remorse  was  over.  She  was  an  enemy  again. 

It  was  an  odd  thing,  how  identical  were  Margarita's 
and  the  Senora' s  view  and  interpretation  of  the  situ 
ation.  The  Senora  looking  at  it  from  above,  and 
Margarita  looking  at  it  from  below,  each  was  sure, 
and  they  were  both  equally  sure,  that  it  could  be 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  disgraceful  intrigue. 
Mistress  and  maid  were  alike  incapable  either  of  con 
jecturing  or  of  believing  the  truth. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  —  or  was  it  good  luck  ?— 
Felipe  also  had  witnessed  the  scene  in  the  garden- 
walk.  Hearing  voices,  he  had  looked  out  of  his  win 
dow,  and,  almost  doubting  the  evidence  of  his  senses 
had  seen  his  mother  violently  dragging  Eamona  by 
the  arm,  —  Ramon  a  pale,  but  strangely  placid  ;  his 
mother  with  rage  and  fury  in  her  white  face.  The 
sight  told  its  own  tale  to  Felipe.  Smiting  his  fore 
head  with  his  hand,  he  groaned  out :  "  Fool  that  I 
was,  to  let  her  be  surprised ;  she  has  come  on  them 
unawares :  now  she  will  never,  never  forgive  it ! "  And 


154  RAMON  A. 

Felipe  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  to  think  what  should 
be  done.  Presently  he  heard  his  mother's  voice,  still 
agitated,  calling  his  name.  He  remained  silent,  sure 
she  would  soon  seek  him  in  his  room.  When  she 
entered,  and,  seeing  him  on  the  bed,  came  swiftly  to 
wards  him,  saying,  "  Felipe,  dear,  are  you  ill  ?  "  lie 
replied  in  a  feeble  voice,  "  jSTo,  mother,  only  tired  a 
little  to-night ; "  and  as  she  bent  over  him,  anxious, 
alarmed,  he  threw  his  arms  around  her  neck  and 
kissed  her  warmly.  "  Mother  mia  ! "  he  said  passion 
ately,  "  what  should  I  do  without  you?  "  The  caress, 
the  loving  words,  acted  like  oil  on  the  troubled 
waters.  They  restored  the  Senora  as  nothing  else 
could.  What  mattered  anything,  so  long  as  she  had 
her  adoring  and  adorable  son !  And  she  would  not 
speak  to  him,  now  that  he  was  so  tired,  of  this  dis 
graceful  and  vexing  matter  of  Alessandro.  It  could 
wait  till  morning.  She  would  send  him  his  supper 
in  his  room,  and  he  would  not  miss  Eamona,  per 
haps. 

"  I  will  send  your  supper  here,  Felipe,"  she  said ; 
"  you  must  not  overdo ;  you  have  been  walking  too 
much.  Lie  still."  And  kissing  him  affectionately, 
she  went  to  the  dining-room,  where  Margarita,  vainly 
trying  to  look  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  was  stand 
ing,  ready  to  serve  supper.  When  the  Senora  en 
tered,  with  her  countenance  composed,  and  in  her 
ordinary  tones  said,  "  Margarita,  you  can  take  Senor 
Felipe's  supper  into  his  room  ;  he  is  lying  down, 
and  will  not  get  up ;  he  is  tired,"  Margarita  wjis 
ready  to  doubt  if  she  had  not  been  in  a  nightmare 
dream.  Had  she,  or  had  she  not,  within  the  last  half- 
hour,  seen  the  Senora,  shaking  and  speechless  with 
rage,  push  the  Senorita  Eamona  into  her  room,  and 
lock  her  up  there  ?  She  was  so  bewildered  that  she 
stood  still  and  gazed  at  the  Senora,  with  her  mouth 
wide  open. 


RAMON  A.  155 

"  What  are  you  staring  at,  girl  ? "  asked  the  Seiiora, 
so  sharply  that  Margarita  jumped. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,  Serlora  !  And  the  Senorita, 
will  she  come  to  supper  ?  Shall  I  call  her  ? "  she 
said. 

The  Senora  eyed  her.  Had  she  seen  ?  Could  she 
have  seen  ?  The  Seiiora  Moreno  was  herself  again. 
So  long  as  Bamoua  was  under  her  roof,  no  matter 
what  she  herself  might  do  or  say  to  the  girl,  no  ser 
vant  should  treat  her  with  disrespect,  or  know  that 
aught  was  wrong. 

"  The  Senorita  is  not  well,"  she  said  coldly.  "  She 
is  in  her  room.  I  myself  will  take  her  some  supper 
later,  if  she  wishes  it.  Do  not  disturb  her."  And 
the  Senora  returned  to  Felipe. 

Margarita  chuckled  inwardly,  and  proceeded  to 
clear  the  table  she  had  spread  with  such  malicious 
punctuality  two  short  hours  before.  In  those  two 
short  hours  how  much  had  happened  ! 

"  Small  appetite  for  supper  will  our  Senorita  have, 
I  reckon,"  said  the  bitter  Margarita,  "  and  the  Senor 
Alessandro  also !  I  'm  curious  to  see  how  he  will 
carry  himself." 

But  her  curiosity  was  not  gratified.  Alessandro 
came  not  to  the  kitchen.  The  last  of  the  herds 
men  had  eaten  and  gone  ;  it  was  past  nine  o'clock, 
and  no  Alessandro.  Slyly  Margarita  ran  out  and 
searched  in  some  of  the  places  where  she  knew  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  going ;  but  Alessandro  was  not  to 
be  found.  Once  she  brushed  so  near  his  hiding-place 
that  he  thought  he  was  discovered,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  speaking,  but  luckily  held  his  peace,  and  she 
passed  on.  Alessandro  was  hid  behind  the  geranium 
clump  at  the  chapel  door;  sitting  on  the  ground, 
with  his  knees  drawn  up  to  his  chin,  watching  Ea- 
moua's  window.  He  intended  to  stay  there  all  night. 
He  felt  that  he  might  be  needed ;  if  llarnona  wanted 


156  RAMONA. 

him,  she  would  either  open  her  window  and  call,  or 
would  come  out  and  go  down  through  the  garden- walk 
to  the  willows.  In  either  case,  he  would  see  her  from 
the  hiding-place  he  had  chosen.  He  was  racked  by 
his  emotions ;  mad  with  joy  one  minute,  sick  at  heart 
with  misgiving  the  next.  Eamona  loved  him.  She 
had  told  him  so.  She  had  said  she  would  go  away 
with  him  and  be  his  wife.  The  words  had  but  just 
passed  her  lips,  at  that  dreadful  moment  when  the 
Senora  appeared  in  their  presence.  As  he  lived  tho 
scene  over  again,  he  re-experienced  the  joy  and 
the  terror  equally. 

What  was  not  that  terrible  Senora  capable  of 
doing  ?  Why  did  she  look  at  him  and  at  Eamona 
with  such  loathing  scorn  ?  Since  she  knew  that  the 
Senorita  was  half  Indian,  why  should  she  think  it  so 
dreadful  a  thing  for  her  to  marry  an  Indian  man  ?  1 1 
did  not  once  enter  into  Alessaudro's  mind,  that  the 
Senora  could  have  had  any  other  thought,  seeing 
them  as  she  did,  in  each  other's  arms.  And  again, 
what  had  he  to  give  to  Eamona  ?  Could  she  live  in  a 
house  such  as  he  must  live  in, — live  as  the  Temecula 
women  lived  ?  No !  for  her  sake  he  must  leave  his 
people ;  must  go  to  some  town,  must  do  —  he  knew 
not  what  —  something  to  earn  more  money.  An 
guish  seized  him  as  he  pictured  to  himself  Eamona 
suffering  deprivations.  The  more  he  thought  of  the 
future  in  this  light,  the  more  his  joy  faded  and  his 
fear  grew.  He  had  never  had  sufficient  hope  that 
she  could  be  his,  to  look  forward  thus  to  the  prac 
tical  details  of  life ;  he  had  only  gone  on  loving,  and 
'in  a  vague  way  dreaming  and  hoping;  and  now, — 
now,  in  a  moment,  all  had  been  changed ;  in  a  mo 
ment  he  had  spoken,  and  she  had  spoken,  and  such 
words  once  spoken,  there  was  no  going  back  ;  and  he 
had  put  his  arms  around  her,  and  felt  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  and  kissed  her  !  Yes,  he,  Alessandro,  had 


RAMONA.  157 

kissed  the  Senorita  Ramona,  and  she  had  been  glad 
of  it,  and  had  kissed  him  on  the  lips,  as  no  maiden 
kisses  a  man  unless  she  will  wed  with  him,  —  him, 
Alessandro !  Oh,  no  wonder  the  man's  brain  whirled, 
as  he  sat  there  in  the  silent  darkness,  wondering, 
afraid,  helpless ;  his  love  wrenched  from  him,  in  the 
very  instant  of  their  first  kiss,  —  wrenched  from  him, 
and  he  himself  ordered,  by  one  who  had  the  right 
to  order  him,  to  begone !  What  could  an  Indian  do 
against  a  Moreno  ! 

Would  Felipe  help  him  ?  Ay,  there  was  Felipe ! 
That  Felipe  was  his  friend,  Alessandro  knew  with  a 
knowledge  as  sure  as  the  wild  partridge's  instinct  for 
the  shelter  of  her  brood  ;  but  could  Felipe  move  the 
Senora  ?  Oh,  that  terrible  Senora !  What  would 
become  of  them  ? 

As  in  the  instant  of  drowning,  men  are  said  to 
review  in  a  second  the  whole  course  of  their  lives, 
so  in  this  supreme  moment  of  Alessandro's  love 
there  flashed  through  his  mind  vivid  pictures  of 
every  word  and  act  of  Eamona's  since  he  first  knew 
her.  He  recollected  the  tone  in  which  she  had  said, 
and  the  surprise  with  which  he  heard  her  say  it, 
at  the  time  of  Felipe's  fall,  "You  are  Alessandro, 
are  you  not  ? "  He  heard  again  her  soft-whispered 
prayers  the  first  night  Felipe  slept  on  the  veranda. 
He  recalled  her  tender  distress  because  the  shearers 
had  had  no  dinner;  the  evident  terribleness  to  her  of 
a  person  going  one  whole  day  without  food.  "  0  God  ! 
will  she  always  have  food  each  day  if  she  comes 
with  me  ? "  he  said.  And  at  the  bare  thought  he  was 
\ready  to  flee  away  from  her  forever.  Then  lie  re 
called  her  look  and  her  words  only  a  few  hours 
ago,  when  he  first  told  her  he  loved  her ;  and  his 
heart  took  courage.  She  had  said,  "  I  know  you 
love  me,  Alessandro,  and  I  am  glad  of  it,"  and  had 
lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  with  all  the  love  that  a  woman's 


158  RAMON  A. 

eyes  can  carry ;  and  when  he  threw  his  arms  around 
her,  she  had  of  her  own  accord  come  closer,  and  laid 
one  hand  011  his  shoulder,  and  turned  her  face  to  his. 
Ah,  what  else  mattered  !  There  was  the  whole  world ; 
if  she  loved  him  like  this,  nothing  could  make  them 
wretched ;  his  love  would  be  enough  for  her,  —  and 
for  him  hers  was  an  empire. 

It  was  indeed  true,  though  neither  the  Senora  nor 
Margarita  would  have  believed  it,  that  this  had  been 
the  first  word  of  love  ever  spoken  between  Alessan- 
dro  and  Eainona,  the  first  caress  ever  given,  the  first 
moment  of  unreserve.  It  had  come  about,  as  lovers' 
first  words,  first  caresses,  are  so  apt  to  do,  unexpect 
edly,  with  no  more  premonition,  at  the  instant,  than 
there  is  of  the  instant  of  the  opening  of  a  flower. 
Alessandro  had  been  speaking  to  Eamona  of  the 
conversation  Felipe  had  held  with  him  in  regard  to 
remaining  on  the  place,  and  asked  her  if  she  knew  of 
the  plan. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "I  heard  the  Seflora  talking  about 
it  with  Felipe,  some  days  ago." 

"  Was  she  against  my  staying  ? "  asked  Alessandro, 
quickly. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Eamona,  "  but  I  am  not  sure. 
It  is  riot  easy  to  be  sure  what  the  Senora  wishes,  till 
afterward.  It  was  Felipe  that  proposed  it." 

This  somewhat  enigmatical  statement  as  to  the 
difficulty  of  knowing  the  Senora's  wishes  was  like 
Greek  to  Alessandro' a  mind. 

"  I  do  not  understand,  Senorita,"  he  said.  "  What, 
do  you  mean  by  '  afterward '  ? " 

"  I  mean,"  replied  Eamona,  "  that  the  Senora  never 
says  she  wishes  anything ;  she  says  she  leaves  every 
thing  to  Felipe  to  decide,  or  to  Father  Salvierderra. 
But  I  think  it  is  always  decided  as  she  wishes  to 
have  it,  after  all.  The  Senora  is  wonderful,  Ales 
sandro  ;  don't  you  think  so  ? " 


RAMONA.  159 

"  She  loves  Sefior  Felipe  very  much,"  was  Alessan- 
dro's  evasive  reply. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  exclaimed  Ramona.  "  You  do  not  begin 
to  know  how  much.  She  does  not  love  any  other 
human  being.  He  takes  it  all.  She  has  n't  any  left. 
If  he  had  died,  she  would  have  died  too.  That  is  the 
reason  she  likes  you  so  much ;  she  thinks  you  saved 
Felipe's  life.  I  mean,  that  is  one  reason,"  added 
Ramona,  smiling,  and  looking  up  confidingly  at 
Alessandro,  who  smiled  back,  not  in  vanity,  but 
honest  gratitude  that  the  Senorita  was  pleased  to 
intimate  that  he  was  not  unworthy  of  the  Sefiora's 
regard. 

"  I  do  not  think  she  likes  me,"  he  said.  "  I  can 
not  tell  why ;  but  I  do  not  think  she  likes  any  one 
in  the  world.  She  is  not  like  any  one  I  ever  saw, 
Senorita." 

"  No,"  replied  Ramona,  thoughtfully.  "  She  is  not. 
I  am,  oh,  so  afraid  of  her,  Alessandro  !  I  have  always 
been,  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl.  I  used  to  think 
she  hated  me ;  but  now  I  think  she  does  not  care 
one  way  or  the  other,  if  I  keep  out  of  her  way." 

While  Ramona  spoke  these  words,  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  running  water  at  her  feet.  If  she  had 
looked  up,  and  seen  the  expression  in  Alessandro's 
eyes  as  he  listened,  the  thing  which  was  drawing 
near  would  have  drawn  near  faster,  would  have  ar 
rived  at  that  moment ;  but  she  did  not  look  up.  She 
went  on,  little  dreaming  how  hard  she  was  making  it 
for  Alessandro. 

"  Many 's  the  time  I  've  come  down  here,  at  night, 
to  this  brook,  and  looked  at  it,  and  wished  it  was  a 
big  river,  so  I  could  throw  myself  in,  and  be  carried 
away  out  to  the  sea,  dead.  But  it  is  a  fearful  sin, 
Father  Salvierderra  says,  to  take  one's  own  life ;  and 
always  the  next  morning,  when  the  sun  came  out, 
and  the  birds  sang,  I  've  been  glad  enough  I  had  not 


160  RAMONA. 

done  it.  Were  you  ever  so  unhappy  as  that,  Ales- 
sandro  ? " 

"No,  Senorita,  never,"  replied  Alessandro;  "and  it 

is  thought  a  great  disgrace,  among  us,  to  kill  one's 

•  self.     I  think  I  could  never  do  it.     But,  oh,  Senorita, 

,it  is  a  grief  to  think  of  your  being  unhappy.     Will 

you  always  be  so  ?     Must  you  always  stay  here  ? " 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  not  always  unhappy  ! "  said  Eamona, 
with  her  sunny  little  laugh.  "  Indeed,  I  am  gener 
ally  very  happy.  Father  Salvierderra  says  that  if 
one  does  no  sin,  one  will  be  always  happy,  and  that 
it  is  a  sin  not  to  rejoice  every  hour  of  the  day 
in  the  sun  and  the  sky  and  the  work  there  is  to 
do;  and  there  is  always  plenty  of  that."  Then,  her 
face  clouding,  she  continued :  "  I  suppose  I  shall 
always  stay  here.  I  have  no  other  home ;  you  know 
I  was  the  Senora's  sister's  adopted  child.  She  died 
when  I  was  little,  and  the  Sefiora  kindly  took  me. 
Father  Salvierderra  says  I  must  never  forget  to  be 
grateful  to  her  for  all  she  has  done  for  me,  and  I  try 
not  to." 

Alessandro  eyed  her  closely.  The  whole  story,  as 
Juan  Can  had  told  it  to  him,  of  the  girl's  birth,  was 
burning  in  his  thoughts.  How  he  longed  to  cry  out, 
"  O  my  loved  one,  they  have  made  you  homeless  in 
your  home.  They  despise  you.  The  blood  of  my 
race  is  in  your  veins ;  come  to  me ;  come  to  me !  be 
surrounded  with  love ! "  But  he  dared  not.  How 
could  he  dare  ? 

Some  strange  spell  seemed  to  have  unloosed  Ea 
mona' s  tongue  to-night.  She  had  never  before  spoken 
to  Alessandro  of  her  own  personal  history  or  bur 
dens  ;  but  she  went  on  :  "  The  worst  thing  is,  Alessan 
dro,  that  she  will  not  tell  me  who  my  mother  was ; 
and  I  do  not  know  if  she  is  alive  or  not,  or  anything 
about  her.  Once  I  asked  the  Senora,  but  she  forbade 
me  ever  to  ask  her  again.  She  said  she  herself  would 


RAMONA.  161 

tell  me  when  it  was  proper  for  me  to  know.  But  slie 
never  has." 

How  the  secret  trembled  on  Alessandro's  lips  now. 
Eamona  had  never  seemed  so  near,  so  intimate,  so 
trusting.  What  would  happen  it'  he  were  to  tell  her 
the  truth  ?  Would  the  sudden  knowledge  draw  her 
closer  to  him,  or  repel  her  ? 

"  Have  you  never  asked  her  again  ?  "  he  said. 

Eamona  looked  up  astonished.  "  No  one  ever  dis 
obeyed  the  Senora,"  she  said  quickly. 

"  I  would  !  "  exclaimed  Alessandro. 

"  You  may  think  so,"  said  Eamona,  "  but  you 
could  n't.  When  you  tried,  you  would  find  you 
could  n't.  I  did  ask  Father  Salvierderra  once." 

"  What  did  he  say  ? "  asked  Alessandro,  breathless. 

"  The  same  thing.  He  said  I  must  not  ask  ;  I 
was  not  old  enough.  When  the  time  came,  I  would 
be  told,"  answered  liamona,  sadly.  "  I  don't  see  what 
they  can  mean  by  the  time's  coming.  What  do  you 
suppose  they  meant  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know  the  ways  of  any  people  but  my 
own,  Senorita,"  replied  Alessandro.  "  Many  things 
that  your  people  do,  and  still  more  that  these  Ameri 
cans  do,  are  to  me  so  strange,  I  know  nothing  what 
they  mean.  Perhaps  they  do  not  know  who  was  your 
mother  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  they  do,"  answered  Eamona,  in  a  low 
tone,  as  if  the  words  were  wrung  from  her.  "  But 
let  us  talk  about  something  else,  Alessandro  ;  not 
about  sad  tilings,  about  pleasant  things.  Let  us  talk 
about  your  staying  here." 

"  Would  it  be  truly  a  pleasure  to  the  Senorita 
Eamona,  if  I  stayed  ? "  said  Alessandro. 

"  You  know  it  would,"  answered  Eamona,  frankly, 
yet  with  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  which  Alessandro  felt. 
"  I  do  not  see  what  we  could  any  of  us  do  without 
you.  Felipe  says  he  shall  not  let  you  go." 

1L 


162  RAMON  A. 

Alessandro's  face  glowed.  "  It  must  be  as  my 
father  says,  Senoritn,"  he  said.  "A  messenger  came 
from  him  yesterday,  and  I  sent  him  back  with  a  letter 
telling  him  what  the  Senor  Felipe  had  proposed  to 
me,  and  asking  him  what  I  should  do.  My  father  is 
very  old,  Senorita,  and  I  do  not  see  how  he  can  well 
spare  me.  I  am  his  only  child,  and  my  mother  died 
years  ago.  We  live  alone  together  in  our  house,  and 
when  I  am  away  he  is  very  lonely.  But  he  would 
like  to  have  me  earn  the  wages,  I  know,  and  I  hope 
he  will  think  it  best  for  me  to  stay.  There  are  many 
things  we  want  to  do  for  the  village ;  most  of  our 
people  are  poor,  and  can  do  little  more  than  get 
what  they  need  to  eat  day  by  day,  and  my  father 
wishes  to  see  them  better  off  before  he  dies.  Now 
that  the  Americans  are  corning  in  all  around  us,  he 
is  afraid  and  anxious  all  the  time.  He  wants  to  get 
a  big  fence  built  around  our  land,  so  as  to  show 
where  it  is ;  but  the  people  cannot  take  much  time 
to  work  on  the  fence  ;  they  need  all  their  time  to 
work  for  themselves  and  their  families.  Indians 
have  a  hard  time  to  live  now,  Senorita.  Were  you 
ever  in  Temecula  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Eamona.     "  Is  it  a  large  town  ? " 

Alessandro  sighed.  "  Dear  Senorita,  it  is  not  a 
town  ;  it  is  only  a  little  village  not  more  than  twenty 
houses  in  all,  and  some  of  those  are  built  only  of  tule. 
There  is  a  chapel,  and  a  graveyard.  We  built  an 
adobe  wall  around  the  graveyard  last  year.  That 
my  father  said  we  would  do,  before  we  built  the  fence 
around  the  village." 

"  How  many  people  are  there  in  the  village  ? "  asked 
Eamona. 

"  Nearly  two  hundred,  when  they  are  all  there ; 
but  many  of  them  are  away  most  of  the  time.  They 
must  go  where  they  can  get  work ;  they  are  hired  by 
the  farmers,  or  to  do  work  on  the  great  ditches,  or 


RAMONA.  163 

to  go  as  shepherds  ;  and  some  of  them  take  their 
wives  and  children  with  them.  I  do  not  believe  the 
Senorita  has  ever  seen  any  very  poor  people." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have,  Alessandro,  at  Santa  Barbara. 
There  were  many  poor  people  there,  and  the  Sisters 
used  to  give  them  food  every  week." 

"  Indians  ? "  said  Alessaudro. 

Eamona  colored.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  some  of  them 
were,  but  not  like  your  men,  Alessandro.  They  were 
very  different ;  miserable  looking ;  they  could  not  read 
nor  write,  and  they  seemed  to  have  no  ambition." 

"  That  is  the  trouble,"  said  Alessandro,  "  with  so 
many  of  them  ;  it  is  with  my  father's  people,  too. 
They  say, '  What  is  the  use  ? '  My  father  gets  in  despair 
with  them,  because  they  will  not  learn  better.  He 
gives  them  a  great  deal,  but  they  do  not  seem  to  be 
any  better  off  for  it.  There  is  only  one  other  man  in 
our  village  who  can  read  and  write,  besides  my  father 
and  me,  Senorita ;  and  yet  my  father  is  all  the  time 
begging  them  to  come  to  his  house  and  learn  of  him. 
But  they  say  they  have  no  time ;  and  indeed  there 
is  much  truth  in  that,  Senorita.  You  see  everybody 
has  troubles,  Senorita." 

Eamona  had  been  listening  with  sorrowful  face. 
All  this  was  new  to  her.  Until  to-night,  neither  she 
nor  Alessandro  had  spoken  of  private  and  personal 
matters. 

"  Ah,  but  these  are  real  troubles,"  she  said.  "  I  do 
not  think  mine  were  real  troubles  at  all.  I  wish  I 
could  do  something  for  your  people,  Alessandro.  If 
the  village  were  only  near  by,  I  could  teach  them, 
could  I  not  ?  I  could  teach  them  to  read.  The  Sis 
ters  always  said,  that  to  teach  the  ignorant  and  the 
poor  was  the  noblest  work  one  could  do.  I  wish  I 
could  teach  your  people.  Have  you  any  relatives 
there  besides  your  father  ?  Is  there  any  one  in  the 
village  that  you  —  love,  Alessandro  ? " 


104  RAMON  A. 

Alessaudro  was  too  much  absorbed  in  thoughts  of 
his  people,  to  observe  the  hesitating  emphasis  with 
which  ItSmona  asked  this  question. 

"  Yes,  Seiiorita,  I  love  them  all.  They  are  like 
my  brothers  and  sisters,  all  of  niy  father's  people," 
he  said ;  "  and  I  am  unhappy  about  them,  all  the 
time." 

During  the  whole  of  this  conversation  Ramona  had 
had  an  undercurrent  of  thought  going  on,  which  was 
making  her  uneasy.  The  more  Alessaudro  said  about 
his  father  and  his  people,  the  more  she  realized  that 
he  was  held  to  Temecula  by  bonds  that  would  be  hard 
to  break,  the  more  she  feared  his  father  would  not  let 
him  remain  away  from  home  for  any  length  of  time. 
At  the  thought  of  his  going  away,  her  very  heart 
sickened.  Taking  a  sudden  step  towards  him,  she 
said  abruptly,  "  Alessandro,  I  am  afraid  your  father 
will  not  give  his  consent  to  your  staying  here." 

"  So  am  I,  Senorita,"  he  replied  sadly. 

"  And  you  would  not  stay  if  he  did  not  approve  of 
it,  of  course,"  she  said. 

"  How  could  I,  Senorita  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  it  would  not  be  right ; "  but  as  she 
said  these  words,  the  tears  filled  her  eyes. 

Alessandro  saw  them.  The  world  changed  in  that 
second.  "  Senorita  !  Senorita  Eamona  ! "  he  cried, 
"  tears  have  come  in  your  eyes !  0  Senorita,  then 
you  will  not  be  angry  if  I  say  that  I  love  you ! "  and 
Alessandro  trembled  with  the  terror  and  delight  of 
having  said  the  words. 

Hardly  did  he  trust  his  palpitating  senses  to  be 
telling  him  true  the  words  that  followed,  quick,  firm, 
though  only  in  a  whisper,  —  "I  know  that  you  love 
me,  Alessandro,  and  I  am -glad  of  it !",  Yes,  this  was 
what  the  Senorita  Ramona  was  saying !  And  when 
he  stammered,  "  But  you,  Seiiorita,  you  do  not  —  you 
could  not  —  "  "  Yes,  Alessandro,  I  do  —  I  love 


RAMON  A.  165 

you  !  "  in  the  same  clear,  firm  whisper ;  and  the  next 
minute  Alessandro's  arms  were  around  Eamona,  and 
he  had  kissed  her,  sobbing  rather  than  saying,  "  0 
Senorita,  do  you  mean  that  you  will  go  with  me  ?  that 
you  are  mine  ?  Oh,  no,  beloved  Senorita,  you  cannot 
mean  that !  "  But  he  was  kissing  her.  He  knew  she 
did  mean  it ;  and  Eamona,  whispering,  "  Yes,  Alessan- 
dro,  I  do  mean  it ;  I  will  go  with  you,"  clung  to  him 
with  her  hands,  and  kissed  him,  and  repeated  it,  "  I 
will  go  with  you,  I  love  you."  And  then,  just  then, 
came  the  Senora's  step,  and  her  sharp  cry  of  amaze 
ment,  and  there  she  stood,  no  more  than  an  arna's- 
length  away,  looking  at  them  with  her  indignant, 
terrible  eyes. 

What  an  hour  this  for  Alessandro  to  be  living  over 
and  over,  as  he  crouched  in  the  darkness,  watching ! 
But  the  bewilderment  of  his  emotions  did  not  dull 
his  senses.  As  if  stalking  deer  in  a  forest,  he  listened 
for  sounds  from  the  house.  It  seemed  strangely  still. 
As  the  darkness  deepened,  it  seemed  still  stranger 
that  no  lamps  were  lit.  Darkness  in  the  Senora's 
room,  in  the  Senorita's ;  a  faint  light  in  the  dining- 
roorn,  soon  put  out,  —  evidently  no  supper  going  on 
there.  Only  from  under  Felipe's  door  streamed  a  faint 
radiance ;  and  creeping  close  to  the  veranda,  Ales 
sandro  heard  voices  fitfully  talking,  —  the  Senora's 
and  Felipe's ;  no  word  from  Eamona.  Piteously  he 
fixed  his  eyes  on  her  window ;  it  was  open,  but  the 
curtains  tight  drawn ;  no  stir,  no  sound.  Where  was 
she  ?  What  had  been  done  to  his  love  ?  Only  the 
tireless  caution  and  infinite  patience  of  his  Indian 
blood  kept  Alessandro  from  going  to  her  window. 
But  he  would  imperil  nothing  by  acting  on  his  own 
responsibility.  He  would  wait,  if  it  were  till  day 
light,  till  his  love  made  a  sign.  Certainly  before 
long  Senor  Felipe  would  come  to  his  veranda  bed,  arid 
then  he  could  venture  to  speak  to  him.  But  it  was 


1G6  RAMONA. 

near  midnight  when  the  door  of  Felipe's  room  opened, 
and  he  and  his  mother  came  out,  still  speaking  in  low 
tones.  Felipe  lay  down  on  his  couch  ;  his  mother, 
bending  over,  kissed  him,  bade  him  good-night,  and 
went  into  her  own  room. 

It  had  been  some  time  now  since  Alessandro  had 
left  off  sleeping  on  the  veranda  floor  by  Felipe's  side. 
Felipe  was  so  well  it  was  not  needful.  But  Felipe 
felt  sure  he  would  come  to-night,  and  was  not  sur 
prised  when,  a  few  minutes  after  the  Senora's  door 
closed,  he  heard  a  low  voice  through  the  vines,  "  Senor 
Felipe  ? " 

"  Hush,  Alessandro,"  whispered  Felipe.  "  Do  not 
make  a  sound.  To-morrow  morning  early  I  will  see 
you,  behind  the  little  sheepfold.  It  is  not  safe  to 
talk  here." 

"  Where  is  the  Senorita  ? "  Alessandro  breathed 
rather  than  said. 

"  In  her  room,"  answered  Felipe. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Alessandro. 

"  Yes,"  said  Felipe,  hoping  he  was  not  lying ;  and 
this  was  all  Alessandro  had  to  comfort  himself  with, 
through  his  long  night  of  watching.  No,  not  all ;  one 
other  thing  comforted  him,  —  the  notes  of  two  wood- 
doves,  that  at  intervals  he  heard,  cooing  to  each  other ; 
just  the  two  notes,  the  call  and  the  answer,  "  Love  ? " 
"  Here."  "  Love  ?  "  "  Here,"  —  and  long  intervals  of 
silence  between.  Plain  as  if  written  on  a  page  was 
the  thing  they  told. 

"  That  is  what  my  Eamona  is  like,"  thought  he, 
"  the  gentle  wood-dove.  If  she  is  my  wife  my  people 
will  call  her  Majel,  the  Wood-Dove." 


XI. 


TTTHEN'  the  Seiiora  bade  Felipe  good-night,  she 
VV  did  not  go  to  bed.  After  closing  her  door, 
she  sat  down  to  think  what  should  be  done  about 
liamoua.  It  had  been  a  hard  task  she  had  set  her 
self,  talking  all  the  evening  with  Felipe  without 
alluding  to  the  topic  uppermost  in  her  mind.  But 
Felipe  was  still  nervous  and  irritable.  She  would 
not  spoil  his  night's  rest,  she  thought,  by  talking  of 
disagreeable  things.  Moreover,  she  was  not  clear  in 
her  own  mind  what  she  wished  to  have  done  about 
Alessandro.  If  Ramona  were  to  be  sent  away  to  the 
nuns,  which  was  the  only  thing  the  Senora  could 
think  of  as  yet,  there  would  be  no  reason  for  dis 
charging  Alessandro.  And  with  him  the  Senora  was 
by  no  means  ready  to  part,  though  in  her  first  anger 
she  had  been  ready  to  dismiss  him  on  the  spot.  As 
she  pursued  her  reflections,  the  whole  situation 
cleared  itself  in  her  mind ;  so  easily  do  affairs  fall 
into  line,  in  the  plottings  and  plannings  of  an  arbi 
trary  person,  who  makes  in  his  formula  no  allowance 
for  a  human  element  which  he  cannot  control. 

Eamona  should  be  sent  in  disgrace  to  the  Sisters' 
School,  to  be  a  servant  there  for  the  rest  of  her  life. 
The  Senora  would  wash  her  hands  of  her  forever. 
Even  Father  Salvierderra  himself  could  not  expect 
her  any  longer  to  keep  such  a  shameless  creature 
under  her  roof.  Her  sister's  written  instructions  had 
provided  for  the  possibility  of  just  such  a  contingency. 
Going  to  a  secret  closet  in  the  wall,  behind  a  life- 
size  statue  of  Saint  Catharine,  the  Senora  took  out  an 


1GS  RAMONA. 

iron  box,  battered  and  rusty  with  age,  and  set  it  on 
the  bed.  The  key  turned  with  difficulty  in  the  lock. 
It  was  many  years  since  the  Senora  had  opened  this 
box.  No  one  but  herself  knew  of  its  existence. 
There  had  been  many  times  in  the  history  of  the 
Moreno  house  when  the  price  of  the  contents  of  that 
box  would  have  averted  loss  and  misfortune  ;  but  the 
Senora  no  more  thought  of  touching  the  treasure  than 
if  it  had  been  guarded  by  angels  with  fiery  swords. 
There  they  lay,  brilliant  and  shining  even  in  the  dim 
light  of  the  one  candle,  —  rubies,  emeralds,  pearls, 
and  yellow  diamonds.  The  Senora' s  lip  curled  as  she 
looked  at  them.  "  Fine  dowry,  truly,  for  a  creature 
like  this!"  she  said.  "Well  I  knew  in  the  beginning 
no  good  would  come  of  it ;  base  begotten,  base  born, 
she  has  but  carried  out  the  instincts  of  her  nature. 
I  suppose  I  may  be  grateful  that  my  own  son  was  too 
pure  to  be  her  prey ! "  "  To  be  given  to  my  adopted 
daughter,  Eamona  Ortegna,  on  her  wedding  day,"  — 
so  the  instructions  ran,  —  "  if  she  weds  worthily  and 
with  your  approval.  Should  such  a  misfortune  oc 
cur,  which  I  do  not  anticipate,  as  that  she  should 
prove  unworthy,  then  these  jewels,  and  all  I  have  left 
to  her  of  value,  shall  be  the  property  of  the  Church." 
"  No  mention  as  to  what  I  am  to  do  with  the  girl 
herself  if  she  proves  unworthy,"  thought  the  Senora, 
bitterly ;  "  but  the  Church  is  the  place  for  her ;  no 
other  keeping  will  save  her  from  the  lowest  depths  of 
disgrace.  I  recollect  my  sister  said  that  Angus  had 
at  first  intended  to  give  the  infant  to  the  Church. 
Would  to  God  he  had  done  so,  or  left  it  with  its  In 
dian  mother  ! "  and  the  Senora  rose,  and  paced  the 
floor.  The  paper  of  her  dead  sister's  handwriting  fell 
at  her  feet.  As  she  walked,  her  long  skirt  swept  it 
rustling  to  and  fro.  She  stooped,  picked  it  up,  read 
it  again,  with  increasing  bitterness.  No  softness  at 
the  memory  of  her  sister's  love  for  the  little  child ;  no 


RAMON  A.  1G9 

relenting.  "  Unworthy  !  "  Yes,  that  was  a  mild  word 
to  apply  to  Ramona,  now.  It  was  all  settled ;  and 
when  the  girl  was  once  out  of  the  house,  the  Senora 
would  breathe  easier.  She  and  Felipe  would  lead 
their  lives  together,  and  Felipe  would  wed  some  day. 
Was  there  a  woman  fair  enough,  good  enough,  for 
Felipe  to  wed  ?  But  he  must  wed ;  and  the  place 
would  be  gay  with  children's  voices,  and  liamona 
would  be  forgotten. 

The  Senora  did  not  know  how  late  it  was.  "  I  will 
tell  her  to-night,"  she  said.  "  I  will  lose  no  time ; 
and  now  she  shall  hear  who  her  mother  was ! " 

It  was  a  strange  freak  of  just  impulse  in  the 
Senora's  angry  soul,  which  made  her  suddenly  re 
member  that  Ramona  had  had  no  supper,  and  led  her 
to  go  to  the  kitchen,  get  a  jug  of  milk  and  some 
bread,  and  take  them  to  the  room.  Turning  the  key 
cautiously,  that  Felipe  might  not  hear,  she  opened 
the  door  and  glided  in.  No  voice  greeted  her ;  she 
held  her  candle  high  up ;  no  Ramona  in  sight ;  the 
bed  was  empty.  She  glanced  at  the  window.  It 
was  open.  A  terror  seized  the  Senora ;  fresh  anger 
also.  "She  has  run  off  with  Alessandro,"  she  thought. 
"  What  horrible  disgrace  ! "  Standing  motionless,  she 
heard  a  faint,  regular  breathing  from  the  other  side 
of  the  bed.  Hastily  crossing  the  room,  she  saw  a 
sight  which  had  melted  a  heart  that  was  only  ice ; 
but  the  Senora's  was  stone  towards  Ramona.  There 
lay  Ramona  on  the  floor,  her  head  on  a  pillow  at  the 
feet  of  the  big  Madonna  which  stood  in  the  corner. 
Her  left  hand  was  under  her  cheek,  her  right  arm 
flung  tight  around  the  base  of  the  statue.  She  was 
sound  asleep.  Her  face  was  wet  with  tears.  Her 
whole  attitude  was  full  of  significance.  Even  help 
less  in  sleep,  she  was  one  who  had  taken  refuge  in 
sanctuary.  This  thought  had  been  distinct  in  the 
girl's  mind  when  she  found  herself,  spite  of  all  her 


170  P  AM  ON  A. 

woe  and  terror,  growing  sleepy.  "  She  won't  dare  to 
hurt  me  at  the  Virgin's  feet,"  she  had  said ;  "  and  the 
window  is  open.  Felipe  would  hear  if  I  called  ;  and 
Alessandro  will  watch."  And  with  a  prayer  on  her 
lips  she  fell  asleep. 

It  was  Felipe's  nearness  more  than  the  Madonna's, 
which  saved  her  from  being  roused  to  hear  her  doom. 
The  Senora  stood  for  some  moments  looking  at  her, 
and  at  the  open  window.  With  a  hot  rush  of  dis 
graceful  suspicions,  she  noted  what  she  had  never 
before  thought  of,  that  Alessandro,  through  all  his 
watching  with  Felipe,  had  had  close  access  to  Ra- 
mona's  window.  "  Shameful  creature  ! "  she  repeated 
to  herself.  "  And  she  can  sleep !  It  is  well  she 
prayed,  if  the  Virgin  will  hear  such ! "  and  she  turned 
away,  first  setting  down  the  jug  of  milk  and  the  bread 
on  a  table.  Then,  with  a  sudden  and  still  more  curi 
ous  mingling  of  justness  in  her  wrath,  she  returned, 
and  lifting  the  coverlet  from  the  bed,  spread  it  over 
Ramoua,  covering  her  carefully  from  head  to  foot. 
Then  she  went  out  and  again  locked  the  door. 

Felipe,  from  his  bed,  heard  and  divined  all,  but 
made  no  sound.  "  Thank  God,  the  poor  child  is 
asleep  ! "  he  said  ;  "  and  my  poor  dear  mother  feared 
to  awake  me  by  speaking  to  her !  What  will  become 
of  us  all  to-morrow !"  And  Felipe  tossed  and  turned, 
and  had  barely  fallen  into  an  uneasy  sleep,  when  his 
mother's  window  opened,  and  she  sang  the  first  line 
of  the  sunrise  hymn.  Instantly  Ramon  a  joined,  evi 
dently  awake  and  ready ;  and  no  sooner  did  the 
watching  Alessaudro  hear  the  first  note  of  her  voice, 
than  he  struck  in  ;  and  Margarita,  who  had  been  up 
for  an  hour,  prowling,  listening,  peering,  wondering, 
her  soul  racked  between  her  jealousy  and  her  fears,  — 
even  Margarita  delayed  not  to  unite ;  and  Felipe,  too, 
sang  feebly  ;  and  the  volume  of  the  song  went  up  as 
rounded  and  melodious  as  if  all  hearts  were  at  peace 


RAMONA.  171 

and  in  harmony,  instead  of  being  all  full  of  sorrow, 
confusion,  or  hatred.  But  there  was  no  one  of  them 
all  who  was  not  the  better  for  the  singing ;  Earnona 
and  Alessandro  most  of  all. 

"  The  saints  be  praised,"  said  Alessandro.  "  There 
is  my  wood-dove's  voice.  She  can  sing ! "  And, 
"Alessandro  was  near.  He  watched  all  night.  I 
am  glad  he  loves  me,"  said  Earnona. 

"  To  hear  those  two  voices ! "  said  the  Senora ; 
"  would  one  suppose  they  could  sing  like  that  ?  Per 
haps  it  is  not  so  bad  as  I  think." 

As  soon  as  the  song  was  done,  Alessandro  ran  to 
the  sheepfold,  where  Felipe  had  said  he  would  see 
him.  The  minutes  would  be  like  years  to  Alessaudro 
till  he  had  seen  Felipe. 

Eamona,  when  she  waked  and  found  lierself  care 
fully  covered,  and  bread  and  milk  standing  on  the 
table,  felt  much  reassured.  Only  the  Senora's  own 
hand  had  done  this,  she  felt  sure,  for  she  had  heard 
her  the  previous  evening  turn  the  key  in  the  lock, 
then  violently  take  it  out ;  and  Eamona  knew  well 
that  the  fact  of  her  being  thus  a  prisoner  would  be 
known  to  none  but  the  Senora  herself.  The  Senora 
would  not  set  servants  to  gossiping.  She  ate  her 
bread  and  milk  thankfully,  for  she  was  very  hungry. 
Then  she  set  her  room  in  order,  said  her  prayers,  and 
sat  down  to  wait.  For  what  ?  She  could  not  im 
agine  ;  in  truth,  she  did  not  much  try.  Eamona  had 
passed  now  into  a  country  where  the  Senora  did  not 
rule.  She  felt  little  fear.  Felipe  would  not  see  her 
harmed,  and  she  was  going  away  presently  with 
Alessandro.  It  was  wonderful  what  peace  and  free 
dom  lay  in  the  very  thought.  The  radiance  on  her 
face  of  these  two  new-born  emotions  was  the  first 
thing  the  Senora  observed  as  she  opened  the  door,  and 
slowly,  very  slowly,  eying  Eamona  with  a  steady 
look,  entered  the  room.  This  joyous  composure  on 


172  RAMON  A. 

Eamona's  face  angered  the  Senora,  as  it  had  done  be 
fore,  when  she  was  dragging  her  up  the  garden-walk. 
It  seemed  to  her  like  nothing  less  than  brazen  ef 
frontery,  and  it  changed  the  whole  tone  and  manner 
of  her  address. 

I  Seating  herself  opposite  Kamona,  but  at  the  farthest 
side  of  the  room,  she  said,  in  a  tone  scornful  and  in 
sulting,  "  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself  ?  " 

Returning  the  Senora's  gaze  with  one  no  less  steady, 
Ramoua  spoke  in  the  same  calm  tone  in  which  she  had 
twice  the  evening  before  attempted  to  stay  the  Senora's 
wrath.  This  time,  she  was  not  interrupted. 

"  Senora,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  tried  to  tell  you  last 
night,  but  you  would  not  hear  me.  If  you  had  lis 
tened,  you  would  not  have  been  so  angry.  Neither 
Alessandro  nor  I  have  done  anything  wrong,  and  we 
were  not  ashamed.  We  love  each  other,  and  we  are 
going  to  be  married,  and  go  away.  I  thank  you, 
Senora,  for  all  you  have  done  for  me ;  I  am  sure  you 
will  be  a  great  deal  happier  when  I  am  away ; "  and 
Ramona  looked  wistfully,  with  no  shade  of  resent 
ment,  into  the  Senora's  dark,  shrunken  face.  "  You 
have  been  very  good  to  do  so  much  for  a  girl  you 
did  not  love.  Thank  you  for  the  bread  and  milk 
last  night.  Perhaps  I  can  go  away  with  Alessandro 
to-day.  I  do  not  know  what  he  will  wish.  We  had 
only  just  that  minute  spoken  of  being  married,  when 
you  found  us  last  night." 

The  Senora's  face  was  a  study  during  the  few  mo 
ments  that  it  took  to  say  these  words.  She  was 
dumb  with  amazement.  Instantaneously,  on  the  first 
sense  of  relief  that  the  disgrace  had  not  been  what 
she  supposed,  followed  a  new  wrath,  if  possible  hotter 
than  the  first ;  not  so  much  scorn,  but  a  bitterer  anger. 
"  Marry  !  Marry  that  Indian  !  "  she  cried,  as  soon  as 
she  found  voice.  "  You  marry  an  Indian  ?  Never  I 
Are  you  mad  ?  I  will  never  permit  it." 


RAMONA.  173 

Earaona  looked  anxiously  at  her.  "  I  have  never 
disobeyed  you,  Seiiora,"  she  said,  "  but  this  is  different 
from  all  other  things;  you  are  not  my  mother.  I 
have  promised  to  marry  Alessandro." 

The  girl's  gentleness  deceived  the  Senora. 

"  No,"  she  said  icily,  "  I  am  not  your  mother ;  but 
I  stand  in  a  mother's  place  to  you.  You  were  my 
sister's  adopted  child,  and  she  gave  you  to  me.  You 
cannot  marry  without  my  permission,  and  I  forbid 
you  ever  to  speak  again  of  marrying  this  Indian." 

The  moment  had  come  for  the  Seiiora  Moreno  to 
find  out,  to  her  surprise  and  cost,  of  what  stuff  this  girl 
was  made,  —  this  girl,  who  had  for  fourteen  years  lived 
by  her  side,  docile,  gentle,  sunny,  and  uncomplaining 
in  her  loneliness.  Springing  to  her  feet,  and  walk 
ing  swiftly  till  she  stood  close  face  to  face  with  the 
Senora,  who,  herself  startled  by  the  girl's  swift  motion, 
had  also  risen  to  her  feet,  Ramona  said,  in  a  louder, 
firmer  voice  :  "  Senora  Moreno,  you  may  forbid  me 
as  much  as  you  please.  The  whole  world  cannot  keep 
me  from  marrying  Alessandro.  I  love  him.  I  have 
promised,  and  I  shall  keep  my  word."  And  with  her 
young  lithe  arms  straight  down  at  her  sides,  her  head 
thrown  back,  Ramona  Hashed  full  in  the  Senora' s  face  a 
look  of  proud  defiance.  It  was  the  first  free  moment 
her  soul  had  ever  known.  She  felt  herself  buoyed 
up  as  by  wings  in  air.  Her  old  terror  of  the  Senora 
fell  from  her  like  a  garment  thrown  off. 

"  Pshaw ! "  said  the  Senora,  contemptuously,  half 

amused,  in  spite  of  her  wrath,  by  the  girl's,  as  she 

thought,  bootless  vehemence,  "you  talk  like  a  fool. 

/Do  you  not  know  that  I  can   shut  you  up  in  the 

nunnery  to-morrow,  if  I  choose  ? " 

"  No,  you  cannot !  "  replied  Ramona. 

"  Who,  then,  is  to  hinder  me  ? "  said  the  Senora, 
insolently. 

"  Alessundro  !  "  answered  Ramona,  proudly. 


174  RAMONA. 

"  Alessandro  ! "  the  Senora  sneered.  "  Alessandro ! 
Ha !  a  beggarly  Indian,  on  whom  my  servants  will 
set  the  dogs,  if  I  bid  them !  Ha,  ha ! " 

The  Senora's  sneering  tone  but  roused  Eamona 
more.  "  You  would  never  dare  !"  she  cried  ;  "  Felipe 
would  not  permit  it ! "  A  most  unwise  retort  for 
Eamona. 

"  Felipe  ! "  cried  the  Senora,  in  a  shrill  voice. 
"  How  dare  you  pronounce  his  name  !  He  will  none 
of  you,  from  this  hour !  I  will  forbid  him  to  speak 
to  you.  Indeed,  he  will  never  desire  to  set  eyes  on 
you  when  he  hears  the  truth." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Senora,"  answered  Ramona, 
more  gently.  "  Felipe  is  Alessandro's  friend,  and  — 
mine,"  she  added,  after  a  second's  pause. 

"  So,  ho !  the  Senorita  thinks  she  is  all-powerful  in 
the  house  of  Moreno  ! "  cried  the  Senora.  "  We  will 
see  !  we  will  see  !  Follow  me,  Senorita  Eamona  ! " 
And  throwing  open  the  door,  the  Senora  strode  out, 
looking  back  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Follow  me  ! "  she  cried  again  sharply,  seeing  that 
Eamona  hesitated ;  and  Eamona  went ;  across  the 
passage-way  leading  to  the  dining-room,  out  into  the 
veranda,  down  the  entire  length  of  it,  to  the  Senora's 
room,  —  the  Senora  walking  with  a  quick,  agitated 
step,  strangely  unlike  her  usual  gait ;  Eamona  walking 
far  slower  than  was  her  habit,  and  with  her  eyes  bent 
on  the  ground.  As  they  passed  the  dining-room  door, 
Margarita,  standing  just  inside,  shot  at  Eamona  a 
vengeful,  malignant  glance. 

"  She  would  help  the  Senora  against  me  in  any 
thing,"  thought  Eamona ;  and  she  felt  a  thrill  of  fear, 
such  as  the  Senora  with  all  her  threats  had  not 
stirred. 

The  Seiiora's  windows  were  open.  She  closed  them 
both,  and  drew  the  curtains  tight.  Then  she  locked 
the  door,  Earnona  watching  her  every  movement. 


RAMONA.  175 

"  Sit  down  in  that  chair,"  said  the  Seiiora,  pointing 
to  one  near  the  fireplace.  A  sudden  nervous  terror 
seized  Kainona. 

"  I  would  rather  stand,  Senora,"  she  said. 

"  Do  as  I  bid  you ! "  said  the  Seiiora,  in  a  husky 
tone ;  and  liamona  obeyed.  It  was  a  low,  broad  arm 
chair,  and  as  she  sank  back  into  it,  her  senses  seemed 
leaving  her.  She  leaned  her  head  against  the  back 
and  closed  her  eyes.  The  room  swam.  She  was 
roused  by  the  Senora' s  strong  smelling-salts  held  for 
her  to  breathe,  and  a  mocking  taunt  from  the  Senora's 
iciest  voice :  "  The  Senorita  does  not  seem  so  over- 
strong  as  she  did  a  few  moments  back ! " 

Eainona  tried  to  reason  with  herself;  surely  no 
ill  could  happen  to  her,  in  this  room,  within  call 
of  the  whole  house.  But  an  inexplicable  terror  had 
got  possession  of  her ;  and  when  the  Senora,  with  a 
sneer  on  her  face,  took  hold  of  the  Saint  Catharine 
statue,  and  wheeling  it  half  around,  brought  into  view 
a  door  in  the  wall,  with  a  big  iron  key  in  the  key 
hole,  which  she  proceeded  to  turn,  liamona  shook 
with  fright.  She  had  read  of  persons  who  had  been 
shut  up  alive  in  cells  in  the  wall,  and  starved  to 
death.  With  dilating  eyes  she  watched  the  Senora, 
who,  all  unaware  of  her  terror,  was  prolonging  it  and 
intensifying  it  by  her  every  act.  First  she  took  out 
the  small  iron  box,  and  set  it  on  a  table.  Then,  kneel 
ing,  she  drew  out  from  an  inner  recess  in  the  closet  a 
large  leather-covered  box,  and  pulled  it,  grating  and 
scraping  along  the  floor,  till  it  stood  in  front  of  Ramona., 
All  this  time  she  spoke  no  word,  and  the  cruel  expres 
sion  of  her  countenance  deepened  each  moment.  The 
fiends  had  possession  of  the  Senora  Moreno  this  morn 
ing,  and  no  mistake.  A  braver  heart  than  Eamona's 
might  have  indeed  been  fearful,  at  being  locked  up 
alone  with  a  woman  who  looked  like  that. 

Finally,  she  locked  the  door  and  wheeled  the  statue 


176  RAMONA. 

back  into  its  place.  Bamona  breathed  freer.  She  was 
riot,  after  all,  to  be  thrust  into  the  wall  closet  and  left 
to  starve.  She  gazed  with  wonder  at  the  old  battered 
boxes.  What  could  it  all  mean  ? 

"  Senorita  Bamona  Ortegna,"  began  the  Senora, 
drawing  up  a  chair,  and  seating  herself  by  the  table 
on  which  stood  the  iron  box,  "  I  will  now  explain 
to  you  why  you  will  not  marry  the  Indian  Ales- 
sandro." 

At  these  words,  this  name,  Bamona  was  herself 
again,  —  not  her  old  self,  her  new  self,  Alessandro's 
promised  wife.  The  very  sound  of  his  name,  even  on 
an  enemy's  tongue,  gave  her  strength.  The  terrors 
fled  away.  She  looked  up,  first  at  the  Senora,  then 
at  the  nearest  window.  She  was  young  and  strong ; 
at  one  bound,  if  worst  came  to  worst,  she  could  leap 
through  the  window,  and  fly  for  her  life,  calling  on 
Alessandro. 

"  I  shall  marry  the  Indian  Alessandro,  Seiiora  Mo 
reno,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  as  defiant,  and  now  almost 
as  insolent,  as  the  Senora' s  own. 

The  Senora  paid  no  heed  to  the  words,  except  to 
say,  "  Do  not  interrupt  me  again.  I  have  much  to 
tell  you ;  "  and  opening  the  box,  she  lifted  out  and 
placed  on  the  table  tray  after  tray  of  jewels.  The 
sheet  of  written  paper  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  box. 

"  Do  you  see  this  paper,  Senorita  Bamoua  ?  "  she 
asked,  holding  it  up.  Bamona  bowed  her  head.  "  This 
was  written  by  my  sister,  the  Senora  Ortegna,  who 
adopted  you  and  gave  you  her  name.  These  were  her 
.final  instructions  to  me,  in  regard  to  the  disposition 
,;to  be  made  of  the  property  she  left  to  you." 

Bamona's  lips  parted.  She  leaned  forward,  breath 
less,  listening,  while  the  Senora  read  sentence  after 
sentence.  All  the  pent-up  pain,  wonder,  fear  of  her 
childhood  and  her  girlhood,  as  to  the  mystery  of  her 
birth,  swept  over  her  anew,  now.  Like  one  hearkening 


RAMON  A.  i  77 

for  life  or  death,  she  listened.  She  forgot  Alessandro. 
She  did  not  look  at  the  jewels.  Her  eyes  never  left 
the  Senora' s  face.  At  the  close  of  the  reading,  the 
Senora  said  sternly,  "  You  see,  now,  that  my  sister 
left  to  me  the  entire  disposition  of  everything  belong 
ing  to  you." 

"  But  it  has  n't  said  who  was  my  mother,"  cried 
Ramona.  "  Is  that  all  there  is  in  the  paper  ? " 

The  Senora  looked  stupefied.  Was  the  girl  feign 
ing  ?  Did  she  care  nothing  that  all  these  jewels, 
almost  a  little  fortune,  were  to  be  lost  to  her  for 
ever  ? 

"Who  was  your  mother?"  she  exclaimed,  scorn 
fully.  "  There  was  no  need  to  write  that  down.  Your 
mother  was  an  Indian.  Everybody  knew  that ! " 

At  the  word  "Indian,"  Ramona  gave  a  low  cry. 

The  Senora  misunderstood  it.  "  Ay,"  she  said,  "  a 
low,  common  Indian.  I  told  my  sister,  when  she  took 
you,  the  Indian  blood  in  your  veins  would  show  some 
day  ;  and  now  it  has  come  true." 

Ramona's  cheeks  were  scarlet.  Her  eyes  flashed. 
"  Yes,  Senora  Moreno,"  she  said,  springing  to  her 
feet ;  "  the  Indian  blood  in  my  veins  shows  to-day.  I 
understand  many  things  I  never  understood  before. 
Was  it  because  I  was  an  Indian  that  you  have  always 
hated  me  ? " 

"  You  are  not  an  Indian,  and  I  have  never  hated 
you,"  interrupted  the  Senora. 

Ramona  heeded  her  riot,  but  went  on,  more  and 
more  impetuously.  "  And  if  I  am  an  Indian,  why  do 
you  object  to  my  marrying  Alessaudro  ?  Oh,  I  am 
glad  I  am  an  Indian  !  I  am  of  his  people.  He  will 
be  glad  ! "  The  words  poured  like  a  torrent  out  of 
her  lips.  In  her  excitement  she  came  closer  and 
closer  to  the  Senora.  "  You  are  a  cruel  woman,"  she 
said.  "  I  did  not  know  it  before  ;  but  now  I  do.  If 
you  knew  I  was  an  Indian,  you  had  no  reason  to  treat 

12 


178  RAM  ON  A. 

me  so  shamefully  as  you  did  last  night,  when  you  saw 
me  with  Alessandro.  You  have  always  hated  me.  Is 
rny  mother  alive  ?  Where  does  she  live  ?  Tell  me  ; 
and  I  will  go  to  her  to-day.  Tell  me  !  She  will  be 
glad  that  Alessandro  loves  me ! " 

It  was  a  cruel  look,  indeed,  and  a  crueller  tone,  with 
which  the  Senora  answered  :  "  I  have  not  the  least  idea 
who  your  mother  was,  or  if  she  is  still  alive.  Nobody 
ever  knew  anything  about  her,  —  some  low,  vicious 
creature,  that  your  father  married  when  he  was  out  of 
his  senses,  as  you  are  now,  when  you  talk  of  marrying 
Alessandro ! " 

"  He  married  her,  then  ?  "  asked  Eamona,  with  em 
phasis.  "How  know  you  that,  Senora  Moreno?" 

"  He  told  my  sister  so,"  replied  the  Senora,  reluc 
tantly.  She  grudged  the  girl  even  this  much  of  con 
solation. 

"  What  was  his  name  ? "  asked  Eamona. 

"  Phail ;  Angus  Phail,"  the  Seuora  replied  almost 
mechanically.  She  found  herself  strangely  constrained 
by  Ramona's  imperious  earnestness,  and  she  chafed 
under  it.  The  tables  were  being  turned  on  her,  she 
hardly  knew  how.  Kamona  seemed  to  tower  in  stature, 
and  to  have  the  bearing  of  the  one  in  authority,  as  she 
stood  before  her  pouring  out  passionate  question  after 
question.  The  Senora  turned  to  the  larger  box,  and 
opened  it.  With  unsteady  hands  she  lifted  out  the 
garments  which  for  so  many  years  had  rarely  seen 
the  light.  Shawls  and  ribosos  of  damask,  laces, 
gowns  of  satin,  of  velvet.  As  the  Senora  flung  one 
after  another  on  the  chairs,  it  was  a  glittering  pile  of 
shining,  costly  stuffs.  Eamona's  eyes  rested  on  them 
dreamily. 

"  Did  my  adopted  mother  wear  all  these  ? "  she 
asked,  lifting  in  her  hand  a  fold  of  lace,  and  holding 
it  up  to  the  light,  in  evident  admiration. 

Again    the    Senora    misconceived    her.      The    girl 


RAMONA.  179 

seemed  not  insensible  to  the  value  and  beauty  of  this 
costly  raiment.  Perhaps  she  would  be  lured  by  it. 

"  All  these  are  yours,  Eamona,  you  understand,  on 
your  wedding  day,  if  you  marry  worthily,  with  my 
permission,"  said  the  Senora,  in  a  voice  a  shade  less 
cold  than  had  hitherto  come  from  her  lips.  "Did  you 
understand  what  I  read  you  ?  " 

The  girl  did  not  answer.  She  had  taken  up  in  her 
hand  a  ragged,  crimson  silk  handkerchief,  which,  tied 
in  many  knots,  lay  in  one  corner  of  the  jewel-box. 

"  There  are  pearls  in  that,"  said  the  Seiiora ;  "  that 
came  with  the  things  your  father  sent  to  my  sister 
when  he  died." 

Eamona's  eyes  gleamed.  She  began  untying  the 
knots.  The  handkerchief  was  old,  the  knots  tied 
tight,  and  undisturbed  for  years.  As  she  reached  the 
last  knot,  and  felt  the  hard  stones,  she  paused.  "  This 
was  iny  father's,  then  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Senora,  scornfully.  She  thought 
she  had  detected  a  new  baseness  in  the  girl.  She 
was  going  to  set  up  a  claim  to  all  which  had  been  her 
father's  property.  "  They  were  your  father's,  and  all 
these  rubies,  and  these  yellow  diamonds ; "  and  she 
pushed  the  tray  towards  her. 

Eamona  had  untied  the  last  knot.  Holding  the 
handkerchief  carefully  above  the  tray,  she  shook  the 
pearls  out.  A  strange,  spicy  fragrance  came  from 
the  silk.  The  pearls  fell  in  among  the  rubies,  rolling 
right  and  left,  making  the  rubies  look  still  redder  by 
contrast  with  their  snowy  whiteness. 

"  I  will  keep  this  handkerchief,"  she  said,  thrusting 
it,  as  she  spoke,  by  a  swift  resolute  movement  into 
her  bosom.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  have  one  thing  that 
belonged  to  my  father.  The  jewels,  Senora,  you  can 
give  to  the  Church,  if  Father  Salvierderra  thinks  that 
is  right.  I  shall  marry  Aiessandro  ; "  and  still  keep 
ing  one  hand  in  her  bosorn  where  she  had  thrust  the 


180  RAMON  A. 

handkerchief,  she  walked  away  and  seated   herself 
again  in  her  chair. 

Father  Salvierderra !  The  name  smote  the  Senoiu 
like  a  spear-thrust.  There  could  be  no  stronger  evi 
dence  of  the  abnormal  excitement  under  which  she' 
had  been  laboring  for  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  than 
the  fact  that  she  had  not  once,  during  all  this  time, 
thought  to  ask  herself  what  Father  Salvierderra  would 
say,  or  might  command,  in  this  crisis.  Her  religion 
and  the  long  habit  of  its  outward  bonds  had  alike 
gone  from  her  in  her  sudden  wrath  against  Ramona. 
It  was  with  a  real  terror  that  she  became  conscious 
of  this. 

"  Father  Salvierderra  ? "  she  stammered ;  "  he  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it." 

But  Kamona  saw  the  change  in  the  Senora's  face, 
at  the  word,  and  followed  up  her  advantage.  "Father 
Salvierderra  has  to  do  with  everything,"  she  said 
boldly.  "  He  knows  Alessandro.  He  will  not  forbid 
me  to  marry  him,  and  if  he  did  —  "  Ramona  stopped. 
She -also  was  smitten  with  a  sudden  terror  at  the 
vista  opening  before  her,  —  of  a  disobedience  to  Father 
Salvierderra. 

"  And  if  he  did,"  repeated  the  Senora,  eying  Ramona 
keenly,  "  would  you  disobey  him  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ramona. 

"  I  will  tell  Father  Salvierderra  what  you  say,"  re 
torted  the  Senora,  sarcastically,  "  that  he  may  spare 
himself  the  humiliation  of  laying  any  commands  on 
you,  to  be  thus  disobeyed." 

Ramona's  lip  quivered,  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
the  tears  which  no  other  of  the  Senora's  taunts  had 
been  strong  enough  to  bring.  Dearly  she  loved  the 
old  monk ;  had  loved  him  since  her  earliest  recollec 
tion.  His  displeasure  would  be  far  more  dreadful  to 
her  than  the  Senora's.  His  would  give  her  grief; 
the  Senora's,  at  utmost,  only  terror. 


RAMON  A.  181 

Clasping  her  hands,  she  said  :  "  Oh,  Seiiora,  have 
mercy  !  Do  not  say  that  to  the  Father  !  " 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  tell  the  Father  everything  that 
happens  in  my  family,"  answered  the  Senora,  chill 
ingly.  "  He  will  agree  with  me,  that  if  you  persist  in 
this  disobedience  you  will  deserve  the  severest  pun 
ishment.  I  shall  tell  him  all ; "  and  she  began  putting 
the  trays  back  in  the  box. 

"  You  will  not  tell  him  as  it  really  is,  Senora,"  per 
sisted  Kamona,  "  I  will  tell  him  myself." 

"  You  shall  not  see  him !  I  will  take  care  of 
that ! "  cried  the  Senora,  so  vindictively  that  Eamona 
shuddered. 

"  I  will  give  you  one  more  chance,"  said  the  Sefiora, 
pausing  in  the  act  of  folding  up  one  of  the  damask 
gowns.  "  Will  you  obey  me  ?  Will  you  promise  to 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  this  Indian  ? " 

"  Never,  Senora,"  replied  Ramona ;  "  never ! " 

"Then  the  consequences  be  on  your  own  head," 
cried  the  Senora.  "  Go  to  your  room  !  And,  hark  !  I 
forbid  you  to  speak  of  all  this  to  Senor  Felipe.  Do 
you  hear  ? " 

Eamona  bowed  her  head.  "  I  hear,"  she  said ;  and 
gliding  out  of  the  room,  closed  the  door  behind  her, 
and  instead  of  going  to  her  room,  sped  like  a  hunted 
creature  down  the  veranda  steps,  across  the  garden, 
calling  in  a  low  tone,  "  Felipe  !  Felipe  !  Where  are 
you,  Felipe  ? " 


XII. 

PT1HE  little  sheepfold,  or  corral,  was  beyond  the 
J-  artichoke-patch,  on  that  southern  slope  whose 
sunshine  had  proved  so  disastrous  a  temptation  to 
Margarita  in  the  matter  of  drying  the  altar-cloth.  It 
was  almost  like  a  terrace,  this  long  slope  ;  and  the 
sheepfold,  being  near  the  bottom,  was  wholly  out  of 
sight  of  the  house.  This  was  the  reason  Felipe  had  se 
lected  it  as  the  safest  spot  for  his  talk  with  Alessandro. 

When  Kamona  reached  the  end  of  the  trellised 
walk  in  the  garden,  she  halted  and  looked  to  the  right 
and  left.  No  one  was  in  sight.  As  she  had  entered 
the  Senora's  room  an  hour  before,  she  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  some  one,  she  felt  almost  positive  it  was 
Felipe,  turning  off  in  the  path  to  the  left,  leading 
down  to  the  sheepfold.  She  stood  irresolute  for  a 
moment,  gazing  earnestly  down  this  path.  "  If  the 
saints  would  only  tell  me  where  he  is!"  she  said 
aloud.  She  trembled  as  she  stood  there,  fearing  each 
second  to  hear  the  Senora's  voice  calling  her.  But 
fortune  was  favoring  Ramona,  for  once  ;  even  as  the 
words  passed  her  lips,  she  saw  Felipe  coming  slowly 
up  the  bank.  She  flew  to  meet  him.  "  Oh,  Felipe, 
Felipe  !  "  she  began. 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know  it  all,"  interrupted  Felipe; 
"Alessandro  has  told  me." 

"She  forbade  me  to  speak  to  you,  Felipe,"  said 
Ramona,  "but  I  could  not  bear  it.  What  are  we  to 
do  ?  Where  is  Alessandro  ?  " 

"  My  mother  forbade  you  to  speak  to  me  ! "  cried  Fe 
lipe,  in  a  tone  of  terror.  "  Oh,  Rarnona,  why  did  you 


RAMONA.  183 

disobey  her  ?  If  she  sees  us  talking,  she  will  be  even 
more  displeased.  Fly  back  to  your  room.  Leave  it 
all  to  me.  I  will  do  all  that  I  can." 

"  But,  Felipe,"  began  Ramona,  wringing  her  hands 
in  distress. 

"  I  know  !  I  know  ! "  said  Felipe  ;  "  but  you  must 
not  make  my  mother  any  more  angry.  I  don't  know 
what  she  will  do  till  I  talk  with  her.  Do  go  back  to 
your  room !  Did  she  not  tell  you  to  stay  there  ? " 

"  Yes,"  sobbed  Ramona,  "  but  I  cannot.  Oh,  Felipe, 
I  am  so  afraid  !  Do  help  us  !  Do  you  think  you  can  ? 
You  won't  let  her  shut  me  up  in  the  convent,  will 
you,  Felipe  ?  Where  is  Alessandro  ?  Why  can't  I  go 
away  with  him  this  minute  ?  Where  is  he  ?  Dear 
Felipe,  let  me  go  now." 

Felipe's  face  was  horror-stricken.  "  Shut  you  in  the 
convent ! "  he  gasped.  "  Did  she  say  that  ?  Ramona, 
dear,  fly  back  to  your  room.  Let  me  talk  to  her. 
Fly,  I  implore  you.  I  can't  do  anything  for  you  if 
she  sees  me  talking  with  you  now  ;  "  and  he  turned 
away,  and  walked  swiftly  down  the  terrace. 

Rarnona  felt  as  if  she  were  indeed  alone  in  the 
world.  How  could  she  go  back  into  that  house ! 
Slowly  she  walked  up  the  garden-path  again,  medi 
tating  a  hundred  wild  plans  of  escape.  Where,  where 
was  Alessandro  ?  Why  did  he  not  appear  for  her  res 
cue  ?  Her  heart  failed  her ;  and  when  she  entered  her 
room,  she  sank  on  the  floor  in  a  paroxysm  of  hopeless 
weeping.  If  she  had  known  that  Alessandro  was 
already  a  good  half-hour's  journey  on  his  way  to 
Temecula,  galloping  farther  and  farther  away  from 
her  each  moment,  she  would  have  despaired  indeed. 

This  was  what  Felipe,  after  hearing  the  whole  story, 
had  counselled  him  to  do.  Alessandro  had  given  him 
so  vivid  a  description  of  the  Senora's  face  and  tone, 
when  she  had  ordered  him  out  of  her  sight,  that 
Felipe  was  alarmed.  He  had  never  seen  his  mother 


184  RAMON  A. 

angry  like  that.  He  could  not  conceive  why  her 
wrath  should  have  been  so  severe.  The  longer  he 
talked  with  Alessandro,  the  more  he  felt  that  it  would 
be  wiser  for  him  to  be  out  of  sight  till  the  first  force 
of  her  anger  had  been  spent.  "  I  will  say  that  I  sent 
you,"  said  Felipe.  "  so  she  cannot  feel  that  you  have 
committed  any  offence  in  going.  Come  back  in  four 
days,  and  by  that  time  it  will  be  all  settled  what  you 
shall  do." 

It  went  hard  with  Alessandro  to  go  without  seeing 
Ramona ;  but  it  did  not  need  Felipe's  exclamation  of 
surprise,  to  convince  him  that  it  would  be  foolhardy 
to  attempt  it.  His  own  judgment  had  told  him  that 
it  would  be  out  of  the  question. 

"But  you  will  tell  her  all,  Senor  Felipe?  You 
will  tell  her  that  it  is  for  her  sake  I  go  ? "  the  poor 
fellow  said  piteously,  gazing  into  Felipe's  eyes  as  if 
he  would  read  his  inmost  soul. 

"  I  will,  indeed,  Alessandro  ;  I  will,"  replied  Felipe  ; 
and  he  held  his  hand  out  to  Alessandro,  as  to  a  friend 
and  equal.  "  You  may  trust  me  to  do  all  I  can  do  for 
Ramona  and  for  you." 

"  God  bless  you,  Senor  Felipe,"  answered  Alessan 
dro,  gravely,  a  slight  trembling  of  his  voice  alone 
showing  how  deeply  he  was  moved. 

"  He  's  a  noble  fellow,"  said  Felipe  to  himself,  as 
he  watched  Alessandro  leap  on  his  horse,  which  had 
been  tethered  near  the  corral  all  night,  —  "a  noble  fel 
low  !  There  is  n't  a  man  among  all  my  friends  who 
would  have  been  manlier  or  franker  than  he  has  been 
in  this  whole  business.  I  don't  in  the  least  wonder 
that  Ramona  loves  him.  He  's  a  noble  fellow  !  But 
what  is  to  be  done  !  What  is  to  be  done  ! " 

Felipe  was  sorely  perplexed.  No  sharp  crisis  of 
disagreement  had  ever  arisen  between  him  and  his 
mother,  but  he  felt  that  one  was  coming  now.  He 
was  unaware  of  the  extent  of  his  influence  over  her. 


RAMONA.  185 

He  doubted  whether  he  could  move  her  very  far. 
The  threat  of  shutting  Earnona  up  in  the  convent 
terrified  him  more  than  he  liked  to  admit  to  himself. 
Had  she  power  to  do  that  ?  Felipe  did  not  know. 
She  must  believe  that  she  had,  or  she  would  not  have 
made  the  threat.  Felipe's  whole  soul  revolted  at  the 
cruel  injustice  of  the  idea. 

"  As  if  it  were  a  sin  for  the  poor  girl  to  love  Ales- 
sandro  !  "  he  said.  "  I  'd  help  her  to  run  away  with 
him,  if  worse  comes  to  worst.  What  can  make  my 
mother  feel  so  !  "  And  Felipe  paced  back  and  forth  till 
the  sun  was  high,  and  the  sharp  glare  and  heat  remind 
ed  him  that  he  must  seek  shelter  ;  then  he  threw  him 
self  down  under  the  willows.  He  dreaded  to  go  into 
the  house.  His  instinctive  shrinking  from  the  disa 
greeable,  his  disposition  to  put  off  till  another  time, 
held  him  back,  hour  by  hour.  The  longer  he  thought 
the  situation  over,  the  less  he  knew  how  to  broach  the 
subject  to  his  mother;  the  more  uncertain  he  felt 
whether  it  would  be  wise  for  him  to  broach  it  at  all. 
Suddenly  he  heard  his  name  called.  It  was  Margarita, 
who  had  been  sent  to  call  him  to  dinner.  "  Good 
heavens  !  dinner  already  ! "  he  cried,  springing  to  his 
feet. 

"  Yes,  Senor,"  replied  Margarita,  eyeing  him  obser 
vantly.  She  had  seen  him  talking  with  Alessandro, 
had  seen  Alessandro  galloping  away  down  the  river 
road.  She  had  also  gathered  much  from  the  Senora's 
look,  and  Eamona's,  as  they  passed  the  dining-room 
door  together  soon  after  breakfast.  Margarita  could 
have  given  a  tolerably  connected  account  of  all  that 
had  happened  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours  to 
the  chief  actors  in  this  tragedy  which  had  so  suddenly 
begun  in  the  Moreno  household.  Not  supposed  to 
know  anything,  she  yet  knew  nearly  all ;  and  her 
every  pulse  was  beating  high  with  excited  conjecture 
and  wonder  as  to  what  would  come  next. 


18G  RAMONA. 

Dinner  was  a  silent  and  constrained  meal,  —  Ea- 
mona  absent,  the  fiction  of  her  illness  still  kept  up ; 
Felipe  embarrassed,  and  unlike  himself;  the  Seiiora 
silent,  full  of  angry  perplexity.  At  her  first  glance 
in  Felipe's  face,  she  thought  to  herself,  "  Eamona  has 
spoken  to  him.  When  and  how  did  she  do  it  ?  "  For 
it  had  been  only  a  few  moments  after  liamona  had 
left  her  presence,  that  she  herself  had  followed,  and, 
seeing  the  girl  in  her  own  room,  had  locked  the  door 
as  before,  and  had  spent  the  rest  of  the  morning  on 
the  veranda  within  hands'  reach  of  Uamona's  window. 
How,  when,  and  where  had  she  contrived  to  commu 
nicate  with  Felipe  ?  The  longer  the  Seiiora  studied 
over  this,  the  angrier  and  more  baffled  she  felt ;  to  be 
outwitted  was  even  worse  to  her  than  to  be  disobeyed. 
Under  her  very  eyes,  as  it  were,  something  evidently 
had  happened,  not  only  against  her  will,  but  which 
she  could  not  explain.  Her  anger  even  rippled  out 
towards  Felipe,  and  was  fed  by  the  recollection  of 
Kamona's  unwise  retort,  "  Felipe  would  not  let  you  ! " 
What  had  Felipe  done  or  said  to  make  the  girl  so 
sure  that  he  would  be  on  her  side  and  Alessandro's  ? 
Was  it  come  to  this,  that  she,  the  Seiiora  Moreno, 
was  to  be  defied  in  her  own  house  by  children  and 
servants  ! 

It  was  with  a  tone  of  severe  displeasure  that  she 
said  to  Felipe,  as  she  rose  from  the  dinner-table, 
"  My  son,  I  would  like  to  have  some  conversation 
with  you  in  my  room,  if  you  are  at  leisure." 

"  Certainly,  mother,"  said  Felipe,  a  load  rolling  off 
his  mind  at  her  having  thus  taken  the  initiative,  for 
which  he  lacked  courage ;  and  walking  swiftly  to 
wards  her,  he  attempted  to  put  his  arm  around  her 
waist,  as  it  was  his  affectionate  habit  frequently  to 
do.  She  repulsed  him  gently,  but  bethinking  herself, 
passed  her  hand  through  his  arm,  and  leaning  on  it 
heavily  as  she  walked,  said :  "  This  is  the  most  fitting 


RAMONA.  187 

way,  my  son.  I  must  lean  more  and  more  heavily 
on  you  each  year  now.  Age  is  telling  on  me  fast. 
Do  you  not  find  me  greatly  changed,  Felipe,  in  the 
last  year  ? " 

"  No,  madre  mia,"  replied  Felipe,  "  indeed  I  do  not. 
I  see  not  that  you  have  changed  in  the  last  ten  years." 
And  he  was  honest  in  this.  His  eyes  did  not  note 
the  changes  so  clear  to  others,  and  for  the  best  of 
reasons.  The  face  he  saw  was  one  no  one  else  ever 
beheld ;  it  was  kindled  by  emotion,  transfigured  by 
love,  whenever  it  was  turned  towards  him. 

The  Senora  sighed  deeply  as  she  answered  :  "  That 
must  be  because  you  so  love  me,  Felipe.  I  myself 
see  the  changes  even  day  by  day.  Troubles  tell  on 
me  as  they  did  not  when  I  was  younger.  Even  within 
the  last  twenty-four  hours  I  seem  to  myself  to  have 
aged  frightfully ; "  and  she  looked  keenly  at  Felipe 
as  she  seated  herself  in  the  arm-chair  where  poor 
Ramona  had  swooned  a  few  hours  before.  Felipe 
remained  standing  before  her,  gazing,  with  a  tender 
expression,  upon  her  features,  but  saying  nothing. 

"  I  see  that  Ramona  has  told  you  all !  "  she  con 
tinued,  her  voice  hardening  as  she  spoke.  What  a 
fortunate  wording  of  her  sentence  ! 

"  No,  mother  ;  it  was  not  Ramona,  it  was  Ales- 
sandro,  who  told  me  this  morning,  early,"  Felipe  an 
swered  hastily,  hurrying  on,  to  draw  the  conversation 
as  far  away  from  Ramona  as  possible.  "  He  came  and 
spoke  to  me  last  night  after  I  was  in  bed ;  but  I  told 
him  to  wait  till  morning,  and  then  I  would  hear  all 
he  had  to  say." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Senora,  relieved.  Then,  as  Felipe 
remained  silent,  she  asked,  "  And  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  all  that  had  happened." 

"  All ! "  said  the  Senora,  sneeringly.  "  Do  you  sup 
pose  that  he  told  you  all  ?  " 

"  He  said  that  you  had  bidden  him  begone  out  of 


188  RAM  ON  A. 

your  sight,"  said  Felipe,  "  and  that  he  supposed  lie 
must  go.  So  I  told  him  to  go  at  once.  I  thought 
you  would  prefer  not  to  see  him  again." 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  Senora  again,  startled,  gratified 
that  Felipe  had  so  promptly  seconded  her  action,  but 
sorry  that  Alessandro  had  gone.  "  Ah,  I  did  not  know 
whether  you  would  think  it  best  to  discharge  him  at 
once  or  not ;  I  told  him  he  must  answer  to  you.  I 
did  not  know  but  you  might  devise  some  measures 
by  which  he  could  be  retained  on  the  estate." 

Felipe  stared.  Could  he  believe  his  ears  ?  This 
did  not  sound  like  the  relentless  displeasure  he  had 
expected.  Could  Ramona  have  been  dreaming  ?  Tn 
his  astonishment,  he  did  not  weigh  his  mother's  words 
carefully  ;  he  did  not  carry  his  conjecture  far  enough  ; 
he  did  not  stop  to  make  sure  that  retaining  •Ales 
sandro  on  the  estate  might  not  of  necessity  bode 
any  good  to  Ramona  ;  but  with  his  usual  impetuous 
ardor,  sanguine,  at  the  first  glimpse  of  hope,  that  all 
was  well,  he  exclaimed  joyfully,  "  Ah,  dear  mother, 
if  that  could  only  be  done,  all  would  be  well ; "  and, 
never  noting  the  expression  of  his  mother's  face,  nor 
pausing  to  take  breath,  he  poured  out  all  he  thought 
and  felt  on  the  subject. 

"  That  is  just  what  I  have  been  hoping  for  ever 
since  I  saw  that  he  and  Ramona  were  growing  so 
fond  of  each  other.  He  is  a  splendid  fellow,  and  the 
best  hand  we  have  ever  had  on  the  place.  All  the 
men  like  him  ;  he  would  make  a  capital  overseer ; 
and  if  we  put  him  in  charge  of  the  whole  estate,  there 
would  not  be  any  objection  to  his  marrying  Ramona. 
That  would  give  them  a  good  living  here  with  us." 

"  Enough  !  "  cried  the  Senora,  in  a  voice  which  fell 
on  Felipe's  ears  like  a  voice  from  some  other  world, 
—  so  hollow,  so  strange.  He  stopped  speaking,  and 
uttered  an  ejaculation  of  amazement.  At  the  first 
words  he  had  uttered,  the  Senora  had  fixed  her  eyes 


RAMONA.  189 

on  the  floor, — a  habit  of  hers  when  she  wished  to 
listen  with  close  attention.  Lifting  her  eyes  now, 
and  fixing  them  full  on  Felipe,  she  regarded  him  with 
a  look  which  not  all  his  filial  reverence  could  hear 
without  resentment.  It  was  nearly  as  scornful  as 
that  with  which  she  had  regarded  Bamona.  Felipe 
colored. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that,  mother  ?"  he 
exclaimed.  "  What  have  I  done  ? " 

The  Senora  waved  her  hand  imperiously.  "  Enough ! " 
she  reiterated.  "  Do  not  say  any  more.  I  wish  to 
think  for  a  few  moments ;  "  and  she  fixed  her  eyes  on 
the  floor  again. 

Felipe  studied  her  countenance.  A  more  nearly 
rebellious  feeling  than  he  had  supposed  himself 
capable  of  slowly  arose  in  his  heart.  Now  he  for 
the  first  time  perceived  what  terror  his  mother  must 
inspire  in  a  girl  like  Ramona. 

"  Poor  little  one  !  "  he  thought.  "  If  my  mother 
looked  at  her  as  she  did  at  me  just  now,  I  wonder  she 
did  not  die." 

A  great  storm  was  going  on  in  the  Senora's  bosom. 
Wrath  against  Eamona  was  uppermost  in  it.  In 
addition  to  all  else,  the  girl  had  now  been  the  cause, 
or  at  least  the  occasion,  of  Felipe's  having,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  whole  life,  angered  her  beyond  her 
control. 

"  As  if  I  had  not  suffered  enough  by  reason  of  that 
creature,"  she  thought  bitterly  to  herself,  "  without 
her  coming  between  me  and  Felipe  ! " 

But  nothing  could  long  come  between  the  Senora 
and  Felipe.  Like  a  fresh  lava-stream  flowing  down 
close  on  the  track  of  its  predecessor,  came  the  rush 
of  the  mother's  passionate  love  for  her  son  close  on 
the  passionate  anger  at  his  words. 

When  she  lifted  her  eyes  they  were  full  of  tears, 
which  it  smote  Felipe  to  see.  As  she  gazed  at  him, 


190  RAMON  A. 

they  rolled  down  her  cheeks,  and  she  said  in  trem 
bling  tones  :  "  Forgive  me,  my  child ;  I  had  not  thought 
anything  could  make  me  thus  angry  with  you.  That 
shameless  creature  is  costing  us  too  dear.  She  must 
leave  the  house." 

Felipe's  heart  gave  a  bound  ;  Eamona  had  not  been 
mistaken,  then.  A  bitter  shame  seized  him  at  his 
mother's  cruelty.  But  her  tears  made  him  tender ; 
and  it  was  in  a  gentle,  even  pleading  voice  that  he 
replied :  "  I  do  not  see,  mother,  why  you  call  Eamona 
shameless.  There  is  nothing  wrong  in  her  loving 
Alessaudro." 

"  I  found  her  in  his  arms  ! "  exclaimed  the  Senora. 

"  I  know,"  said  Felipe ;  "  Alessandro  told  me  that 
he  had  just  at  that  instant  told  her  he  loved  her,  and 
she  had  said  she  loved  him,  and  would  marry  him, 
just  as  you  came  up." 

"  Humph  ! "  retorted  the  Senora  ;  "  do  you  think 
that  Indian  would  have  dared  to  speak  a  word  of 
love  to  the  Senorita  Eamona  Ortegna,  if  she  had  not 
conducted  herself  shamelessly  ?  I  wonder  that  he 
concerned  himself  to  speak  about  marriage  to  her 
at  all." 

"  Oh,  mother !  mother  ! "  was  all  that  Felipe  could 
say  to  this.  He  was  aghast.  He  saw  now,  in  a  Hash, 
the  whole  picture  as  it  lay  in  his  mother's  mind,  and 
his  heart  sank  within  him.  "  Mother  !"  he  repeated, 
in  a  tone  which  spoke  volumes. 

"  Ay,"  she  continued,  "  that  is  what  I  say.  I  see 
no  reason  why  he  hesitated  to  take  her,  as  he  would 
take  any  Indian  squaw,  with  small  ceremony  of 
marrying." 

"  Alessandro  would  not  take  any  woman  that  way 
any  quicker  than  I  would,  mother,"  said  Felipe 
courageously  ;  "  you  do  him  injustice."  He  longed  to 
add,  "And  Eamona  too,"  but  he  feared  to  make  bad 
matters  worse  by  pleading  for  her  at  present. 


BAMONA.  191 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  said  the  Sefiora  ;  "  I  do  Alessandro 
full  justice.  I  think  very  few  men  would  have  be 
haved  as  well  as  he  has  under  the  same  temptation. 
I  do  not  hold  him  in  the  least  responsible  for  all  that 
has  happened.  It  is  all  Ilamona's  fault." 

Felipe's  patience  gave  way.  He  had  not  known, 
till  now,  how  very  closely  this  pure  and  gentle  girl, 
whom  he  had  loved  as  a  sister  in  his  boyhood,  and 
had  come  near  loving  as  a  lover  in  his  manhood, 
had  twined  herself  around  his  heart.  He  could  not 
remain  silent  another  moment,  and  hear  her  thus 
wickedly  accused. 

"  Mother ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  which  made 
the  Senora  look  up  at  him  in  sudden  astonishment. 
"  Mother,  I  cannot  help  it  if  I  make  you  very  angry  ; 
I  must  speak;  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  say  such 
things  of  Kamona.  I  have  seen  for  a  long  time  that 
Alessandro  loved  the  very  ground  under  her  feet; 
and  Eamoua  would  not  have  been  a  woman  if  she 
had  not  seen  it  too !  She  has  seen  it,  and  has  felt  it, 
and  has  come  to  love  him  with  all  her  soul,  just  as  I 
hope  some  woman  will  love  ine  one  of  these  days. 
If  I  am  ever  loved  as  well  as  she  loves  Alessandro,  I 
shall  be  lucky.  I  think  they  ought  to  be  married ; 
and  I  think  we  ought  to  take  Alessandro  on  to  the 
estate,  so  that  they  can  live  here.  I  don't  see  any 
thing  disgraceful  in  it,  nor  anything  wrong,  nor  any 
thing  but  what  was  perfectly  natural.  You  know, 
mother,  it  is  n't  as  if  Ramona  really  belonged  to  our 
family ;  you  know  she  is  half  Indian."  A  scornful 
ejaculation  from  his  mother  interrupted  him  here ; 
but  Felipe  hurried  on,  partly  because  he  was  borne 
out  of  himself  at  last  by  impetuous  feeling,  partly 
that  he  dreaded  to  stop,  because  if  he  did,  his  mother 
would  speak ;  and  already  he  felt  a  terror  of  what  her 
next  words  might  be.  "  I  have  often  thought  about 
Eainoiia's  future,  mother.  You  know  a  great  many 


192  RAM  ON  A. 

men  would  not  want  to  marry  her,  just  because  she  is 
half  Indian.  You,  yourself,  would  never  have  given 
your  consent  to  my  marrying  her,  if  I  had  wanted 
to."  Again  an  exclamation  from  the  Senora,  this 
time  more  of  horror  than  of  scorn.  But  Felipe 
pressed  on.  "  No,  of  course  you  would  not,  I  always 
knew  that ;  except  for  that,  I  might  have  loved  her 
myself,  for  a  sweeter  girl  never  drew  breath  in  this 
God's  earth."  Felipe  was  reckless  now  ;  having  en 
tered  on  this  war,  he  would  wage  it  with  every 
weapon  that  lay  within  his  reach;  if  one  did  not 
tell,  another  might.  "  You  have  never  loved  her. 
I  don't  know  that  you  have  ever  even  liked  her; 
I  don't  think  you  have.  I  know,  as  a  little  boy,  I 
always  used  to  see  how  much  kinder  you  were  to  me 
than  to  her,  and  I  never  could  understand  it.  And 
you  are  unjust  to  her  now.  I  've  been  watching  her 
all  summer ;  I  've  seen  her  and  Alessandro  together 
continually.  You  know  yourself,  mother,  he  has 
been  with  us  on  the  veranda,  day  after  day,  just  as  if 
he  were  one  of  the  family.  I  've  watched  them  by 
the  hour,  when  I  lay  there  so  sick ;  I  thought  you 
must  have  seen  it  too.  I  don't  believe  Alessandro 
has  ever  looked  or  said  or  done  a  thing  I  would  n't 
have  done  in  his  place  ;  and  I  don't  believe  Earn  on  a 
has  ever  looked,  said,  or  done  a  thing  I  would  not 
be  willing  to  have  my  own  sister  do  ! "  Here  Felipe 
paused.  He  had  made  his  charge ;  like  a  young 
impetuous  general,  massing  all  his  forces  at  the 
onset ;  he  had  no  reserves.  It  is  not  the  way  to 
take  Gibraltars. 

When  he  paused,  literally  breathless,  he  had  spo 
ken  so  fast,  —  and  even  yet  Felipe  was  not  quite 
strong,  so  sadly  had  the  fever  undermined  his  con 
stitution,  —  the  Senora  looked  at  him  interrogatively, 
and  said  in  a  now  composed  tone  :  "  You  do  not  be 
lieve  that  Eamoua  has  done  anything  that  you  would 


RAMONA.  193 

not  be  willing  to  have  your  own  sister  do  ?  Would 
you  be  willing  that  your  own.  sister  should  marry 
Alessandro  ? " 

Clever  Senora  Moreno  !  During  the  few  moments 
that  Felipe  had  been  speaking,  she  had  perceived 
certain  things  which  it  would  be  beyond  her  power 
to  do ;  certain  others  that  it  would  be  impolitic  to 
try  to  do.  Nothing  could  possibly  compensate  her 
for  antagonizing  Felipe.  Nothing  could  so  deeply 
wound  her,  as  to  have  him  in  a  resentful  mood 
towards  her ;  or  so  weaken  her  real  control  of  him, 
as  to  have  him  feel  that  she  arbitrarily  overruled 
his  preference  or  his  purpose.  In  presence  of  her 
imperious  will,  even  her  wrath  capitulated  and  sur 
rendered.  There  would  be  no  hot  words  between 
her  and  her  son.  He  should  believe  that  he  deter 
mined  the  policy  of  the  Moreno  house,  even  in  this 
desperate  crisis. 

Felipe  did  not  answer.  A  better  thrust  was  never 
seen  on  any  field  than  the  Seiiora's  question.  She 
repeated  it,  still  more  deliberately,  in  her  wonted 
gentle  voice.  The  Senora  was  herself  again,  as  she 
had  not  been  for  a  moment  since  she  came  upon 
Alessandro  and  Eamona  at  the  brook.  How  just 
and  reasonable  the  question  sounded,  as  she  repeated 
it  slowly,  with  an  expression  in  her  eyes,  of  poising 
and  weighing  matters.  "  Would  you  be  willing  that 
your  own  sister  should  marry  Alessandro  ? " 

Felipe  was  embarrassed.  He  saw  whither  he  was 
being  led.  He  could  give  but  one  answer  to  this 
i question.  "No,  mother,"  he  said,  "I  should  not; 
but—" 

"  Never  mind  buts,"  interrupted  his  mother ;  "  we 
have  not  got  to  those  yet ; "  and  she  smiled  on  Fe 
lipe, —  an  affectionate  smile,  but  it  somehow  gave 
him  a  feeling  of  dread.  "  Of  course  I  knew  you  could 
make  but  one  answer  to  my  question.  If  you  had 

13 


194  RAMON  A. 

a  sister,  you  would  rnther  see  her  dead  than  married 
to  any  one  of  these  Indians." 

Felipe  opened  Ids  lips  eagerly,  to  speak.  "  Not 
so,"  he  said. 

"  Wait,  dear ! "  exclaimed  his  mother.  "  One  thing 
at  a  time.  I  see  how  full  your  loving  heart  is,  and  I 
was  never  prouder  of  you  as  my  son  than  when  lis 
tening  just  now  to  your  eloquent  defence  of  Eamona. 
Perhaps  you  may  be  right  and  I  wrong  as  to  her 
character  and  conduct.  We  will  not  discuss  those 
points."  It  was  here  that  the  Sefora  had  perceived 
some  things  that  it  would  be  out  of  her  power  to  do. 
"  We  will  not  discuss  those,  because  they  do  not 
touch  the  real  point  at  issue.  What  it  is  our  duty 
to  do  by  Eamona,  in  such  a  matter  as  this,  does 
not  turn  on  her  worthiness  or  unworthiness.  The 
question  is,  Is  it  right  for  you  to  allow  her  to  do  what 
you  would  not  allow  your  own  sister  to  do  ? "  The 
Senora  paused  for  a  second,  noted  with  secret  satis 
faction  how  puzzled  and  unhappy  Felipe  looked ;  then, 
in  a  still  gentler  voice,  she  went  on,  "  You  surely 
would  not  think  that  right,  my  son,  would  you  ? " 
And  now  the  Senora  waited  for  an  answer. 

"  No,  mother,"  came  reluctantly  from  Felipe's  lips. 
"  I  suppose  not ;  but  —  " 

"  I  was  sure  my  own  son  could  make  no  other 
reply,"  interrupted  the  Senora.  She  did  not  wish 
Felipe  at  present  to  do  more  than  reply  to  her  ques 
tions.  "  Of  course  it  would  not  be  right  for  us  to  let 
Eamona  do  anything  which  we  would  not  let  her  do 
if  she  were  really  of  our  own  blood.  That  is  the  way 
I  have  always  looked  at  my  obligation  to  her.  My 
sister  intended  to  rear  her  as  her  own  daughter.  She 
had  given  her  her  own  name.  When  my  sister  died, 
she  transferred  to  me  all  her  right  and  responsibility 
in  and  for  the  child.  You  do  not  suppose  that  if 
your  aunt  had  lived,  she  would  have  ever  given  her 


RAMONA.  195 

consent  to  her  adopted  daughter's  marrying  an  In 
dian,  do  you  ? " 

Again  the  Seiiora  paused  for  a  reply,  and  again  the 
reluctant  Felipe  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  No,  I  suppose 
she  would  not." 

"Very  well.  Then  that  lays  a  double  obligation 
on  us.  It  is  not  only  that  we  are  not  to  permit 
Ramona  to  do  a  thing  which  we  would  consider  dis 
graceful  to  one  of  our  own  blood ;  we  are  not  to  betray 
the  trust  reposed  in  us  by  the  only  person  who  had 
a  right  to  control  her,  and  who  transferred  that  trust 
to  us.  Is  not  that  so  ? " 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  the  unhappy  Felipe. 

He  saw  the  meshes  closing  around  him.  He  felt 
that  there  was  a  flaw  somewhere  in  his  mother's  rea 
soning,  but  he  could  not  point  it  out;  in  fact,  he 
could  hardly  make  it  distinct  to  himself.  His  brain 
was  confused.  Only  one  thing  he  saw  clearly,  and 
that  was,  that  after  all  had  been  said  and  done, 
Eamona  would  still  marry  Alessandro.  But  it  was 
evident  that  it  would  never  be  with  his  mother's  con 
sent.  "  Nor  with  mine  either,  openly,  the  way  she 
puts  it.  I  don't  see  how  it  can  be  ;  and  yet  I  have 
promised  Alessandro  to  do  all  I  could  for  him.  Curse 
the  luck,  I  wish  he  had  never  set  foot  on  the  place  ! " 
said  Felipe  in  his  heart,  growing  unreasonable,  and 
tired  with  the  perplexity. 

The  Seiiora  continued :  "  I  shall  always  blame  my 
self  bitterly  for  having  failed  to  see  what  was  going 
on.  As  you  say,  Alessandro  has  been  with  us  a  great 
deal  since  your  illness,  with  his  music,  and  singing, 
and  one  thing  and  another  ;  but  I  can  truly  say  that 
I  never  thought  of  Ramona' s  being  in  danger  of  look 
ing  upon  him  in  the  light  of  a  possible  lover,  any 
more  than  of  her  looking  thus  upon  Juan  Cariito, 
or  Luigo,  or  any  other  of  the  herdsmen  or  labor 
ers.  I  regret  it  more  than  words  can  express,  and  I 


196  BAMONA. 

do  not  know  what  we  can  do,  now  that  it  has 
happened." 

"  That 's  it,  mother !  That 's  it ! "  broke  in  Felipe. 
"  You  see,  you  see  it  is  too  late  now." 

The  Seiiora  went  on  as  if  Felipe  had  not  spoken. 
"I  suppose  you  would  really  very  much  regret  to 
part  with  Alessandro,  and  your  word  is  in  a  way 
pledged  to  him,  as  you  had  asked  him  if  he  would 
stay  on  the  place.  Of  course,  now  that  all  this  has 
happened,  it  would  be  very  unpleasant  for  Ramona 
to  stay  here,  and  see  him  continually  —  at  least  for 
a  time,  until  she  gets  over  this  strange  passion  she 
seems  to  have  conceived  for  him.  It  will  not  last. 
Such  sudden  passions  never  do."  The  Seiiora  artfully 
interpolated,  "What  should  you  think,  Felipe,  of 
having  her  go  back  to  the  Sisters'  school  for  a  time  ? 
She  was  very  happy  there." 

The  Senora  had  strained  a  point  too  far.  Felipe's 
self-control  suddenly  gave  way,  and  as  impetuously 
as  he  had  spoken  in  the  beginning,  he  spoke  again 
now,  nerved  by  the  memory  of  Ramona's  face  and 
tone  as  she  had  cried  to  him  in  the  garden,  "  Oh, 
Felipe,  you  won't  let  her  shut  me  up  in  the  convent, 
will  you  ?  "  "  Mother  ! "  he  cried,  "  you  would  never 
do  that.  You  would  not  shut  the  poor  girl  up  in  the 
convent ! " 

The  Senora  raised  her  eyebrows  in  astonishment. 
"Who  spoke  of  shutting  up  ?"  she  said.  "  Eamona 
has  already  been  there  at  school.  She  might  go 
again.  She  is  not  too  old  to  learn.  A  change  of 
scene  and  occupation  is  the  best  possible  cure  for  a 
girl  who  has  a  thing  of  this  sort  to  get  over.  Can 
you  propose  anything  better,  my  son  ?  What  would 
you  advise  ? "  And  a  third  time  the  Senora  paused 
for  an  answer. 

These  pauses  and  direct  questions  of  the  Senora's 
xvere  like  nothing  in  life  so  much  as  like  that  sta^e 


RAMONA.  197 

in  a  spider's  processes  when,  withdrawing  a  little 
way  from  a  half-entangled  victim,  which  still  sup 
poses  himself  free,  it  rests  from  its  weaving,  and 
watches  the  victim  nutter.  Subtle  questions  like 
these,  assuming,  taking  for  grantee!  as  settled,  much 
which  had  never  been  settled  at  all,  were  among  the 
best  weapons  in  the  Senora's  armory.  They  rarely 
failed  her. 

"  Advise  !  "  cried  Felipe,  excitedly.  "  Advise  ! 
This  is  what  I  advise  —  to  let  Eamona  and  Alessan- 
dro  marry.  I  can't  help  all  you  say  about  our  obli 
gations.  I  dare  say  you  're  right ;  and  it 's  a  cursedly 
awkward  complication  for  us,  anyhow,  the  way  you 
put  it." 

"  Yes,  awkward  for  you,  as  the  head  of  our  house," 
interrupted  the  Senora,  sighing.  "  I  don't  quite  see 
how  you  would  face  it." 

"  Well,  I  don't  propose  to  face  it,"  continued  Felipe, 
testily.  "  I  don't  propose  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  it,  from  first  to  last.  Let  her  go  away  with  him, 
if  she  wants  to." 

"  Without  our  consent  ? "  said  the  Senora,  gently. 

"  Yes,  without  it,  if  she  can't  go  with  it ;  and  I  don't 
see,  as  you  have  stated  it,  how  we  could  exactly  take 
any  responsibility  about  marrying  her  to  Alessandro. 
But  for  heaven's  sake,  mother,  let  her  go  !  She  will 
go,  any  way.  You  have  n't  the  least  idea  how  she 
loves  Alessandro,  or  how  he  loves  her.  Let  her  go  ! " 

"  Do  you  really  think  she  would  run  away  with 
him,  if  it  came  to  that  ? "  asked  the  Senora,  earnestly 
"  Run  away  and  marry  him,  spite  of  our  refusing  to 
consent  to  the  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Felipe. 

"  Then  it  is  your  opinion,  is  it,  that  the  only  thing 
left  for  us  to  do,  is  to  wash  our  hands  of  it  altogether, 
and  leave  her  free  to  do  what  she  pleases  ? " 

"That's  just  what  I  do   think,  mother,"  replied 


198  PAMONA. 

Felipe,  his  heart  growing  lighter  at  her  words. 
"  That 's  just  what  I  do  think.  We  can't  prevent 
it,  and  it  is  of  no  use  to  try.  Do  let  us  tell  them 
they  can  do  as  they  like." 

"  Of  course,  Alessandro  must  leave  us,  then,"  said 
the  Senora.  "  They  could  not  stay  here." 

"  I  don't  see  why ! "  said  Felipe,  anxiously. 

"  You  will,  my  son,  if  you  think  a  moment.  Could 
we  possibly  give  a  stronger  indorsement  to  their 
marriage  than  by  keeping  them  here  ?  Don't  you 
see  that  would  be  so  ? " 

Felipe's  eyes  fell.  "  Then  I  suppose  they  could  n't 
be  married  here,  either,"  he  said. 

"  What  more  could  we  do  than  that,  for  a  marriage 
that  we  heartily  approved  of,  my  son  ? " 

"  True,  mother ; "  and  Felipe  clapped  his  hand  to  his 
forehead.  "  But  then  we  force  them  to  run  away  ! " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  the  Senora,  icily.  "  If  they  go, 
they  will  go  of  their  own  accord.  We  hope  they  will 
never  do  anything  so  foolish  and  wrong.  If  they  do, 
I  suppose  we  shall  always  be  held  in  a  measure  re 
sponsible  for  not  having  prevented  it.  But  if  you 
think  it  is  not  wise,  or  of  no  use  to  attempt  that,  I 
do  not  see  what  there  is  to  be  done." 

Felipe  did  not  speak.  .He  felt  discomfited  ;  felt 
as  if  he  had  betrayed  his  friend  Alessandro,  his 
sister  Eamona ;  as  if  a  strange  complication,  network 
of  circumstances,  had  forced  him  into  a  false  position ; 
he  did  not  see  what  more  he  could  ask,  what  more 
could  be  asked,  of  his  mother ;  he  did  not  see,  either, 
that  much  less  could  have  been  granted  to  Alessandro 
and  Eamona  ;  he  was  angry,  wearied,  perplexed. 

The  Senora  studied  his  face.  "  You  do  not  seem 
satisfied,  Felipe  dear,"  she  said  tenderly.  "  As,  in 
deed,  how  could  you  be  in  this  unfortunate  state  of 
affairs  ?  But  can  you  think  of  anything  different  for 
us  to  do  ? " 


RAMON  A.  199 

"No,"  said  Felipe,  bitterly.  "I  can't,  that's  the 
worst  of  it.  It  is  just  turning  Eamona  out  of  the 
house,  that 's  all." 

"  Felipe  !  Felipe  ! "  exclaimed  the  Senora,  "  how 
unjust  you  are  to  yourself!  You  know  you  would 
never  do  that !  You  know  that  she  has  always  had  a 
home  here  as  if  she  were  a  daughter ;  and  always  will 
have,  as  long  as  she  wishes  it.  If  she  chooses  to  turn 
her  back  on  it,  and  go  away,  is  it  our  fault  ?  Do  not 
let  your  pity  for  this  misguided  girl  blind  you  to 
what  is  just  to  yourself  and  to  me.  Turn  Eamona 
out  of  the  house !  You  know  I  promised  my  sister 
to  bring  her  up  as  my  own  child ;  and  I  have  always 
felt  that  my  son  would  receive  the  trust  from  me,  when 
I  died,  Eamona  has  a  home  under  the  Moreno  roof 
so  long  as  she  will  accept  it.  It  is  not  just,  Felipe, 
to  say  that  we  turn  her  out ; "  and  tears  stood  in  the 
Senora's  eyes. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  mother,"  cried  the  unhappy 
Felipe.  "Forgive  me  for  adding  one  burden  to  all 
you  have  to  bear.  Truth  is,  this  miserable  business 
has  so  distraught  my  senses,  I  can't  seem  to  see 
anything  as  it  is.  Dear  mother,  it  is  very  hard  for 
you.  I  wish  it  were  done  with." 

"  Thanks  for  your  precious  sympathy,  my  Felipe," 
replied  the  Senora.  "  If  it  were  not  for  you,  I  should 
long  ago  have  broken  down  beneath  my  cares  and 
burdens.  But  among  them  all,  have  been  few  so 
grievous  as  this.  I  feel  myself  and  our  home  dis 
honored.  But  we  must  submit.  As  you  say,  Felipe, 
I  wish  it  were  done  with.  It  would  be  as  well,  per 
haps,  to  send  for  Eamona  at  once,  and  tell  her  what 
we  have  decided.  She  is  no  doubt  in  great  anxiety  ; 
we  will  see  her  here." 

Felipe  would  have  greatly  preferred  to  see  Eamona 
alone ;  but  as  he  knew  not  how  to  bring  this  about^ 
he  assented  to  his  mother's  suggestion. 


200  RAMONA. 

Opening  her  door,  the  Sefiora  walked  slowly  down 

the  passage-way,  unlocked  Ramona's  door,  and  said : 
"  Ramona,  be  so  good  as  to  come  to  my  room. 
Felipe  and  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Ramona  followed,  heavy-hearted.  The  words, 
"  Felipe  and  I,"  boded  no  good. 

"  The  Senora  has  made  Felipe  think  just  as  she 
does  herself,"  thought  Ramona.  "  Oh,  what  will  be 
come  of  me  ! "  and  she  stole  a  reproachful,  implor 
ing  look  at  Felipe.  He  smiled  back  in  a  way  which 
reassured  her ;  but  the  reassurance  did  not  last 
long. 

"Sefiorita  Ramona  Ortegna,"  began  the  Sefiora. 
Felipe  shivered.  He  had  had  no  conception  that  his 
mother  could  speak  in  that  way.  The  words  seemed 
to  open  a  gulf  between  Ramona  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  world,  so  cold  and  distant  they  sounded,  —  as  the 
Sefiora  might  speak  to  an  intruding  stranger. 

"  Sefiorita  Ramona  Ortegna,"  she  said, "  my  son  and 
I  have  been  discussing  what  it  is  best  for  us  to  do  in 
the  mortifying  and  humiliating  position  in  which  you 
place  us  by  your  relation  with  the  Indian  Alessandro. 
Of  course  you  know  —  or  you  ought  to  know  — 
that  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  us  to  give  our  con 
sent  to  your  making  such  a  marriage  ;  we  should  be 
false  to  a  trust,  and  dishonor  our  own  family  name,  if 
we  did  that." 

Ramona's  eyes  dilated,  her  cheeks  paled;  she 
opened  her  lips,  but  no  sound  came  from  them ;  she 
looked  toward  Felipe,  and  seeing  him  with  downcast 
eyes,  and  an  expression  of  angry  embarrassment  on 
his  face,  despair  seized  her.  Felipe  had  deserted  their 
cause.  Oh,  where,  where  was  Alessandro  !  Clasping 
her  hands,  she  uttered  a  low  cry,  —  a  cry  that  cut 
Felipe  to  the  heart.  He  was  finding  out,  in  thus 
being  witness  of  Ramona's  suffering,  that  she  was  far 
nearer  and  dearer  to  him  than  he  had  realized.  It 


RAMON  A.  201 

would  have  taken  very  little,  at  such  moments  as 
these,  to  have  made  Felipe  her  lover  again ;  he  felt 
now  like  springing  to  her  side,  folding  his  arms 
around  her,  and  bidding  his  mother  defiance.  It  took 
all  the  self-control  he  could  gather,  to  remain  silent, 
and  trust  to  Eamona's  understanding  him  later. 

Eamona's  cry  made  no  break  in  the  smooth,  icy 
flow  of  the  Senora's  sentences.  She  gave  no  sign  of 
having  heard  it,  but  continued :  "  My  son  tells  me 
that  he  thinks  our  forbidding  it  would  make  no  dif 
ference  ;  that  you  would  go  away  with  the  man  all 
the  same.  I  suppose  he  is  right  in  thinking  so,  as 
you  yourself  told  me  that  even  if  Father  Salvier- 
derra  forbade  it,  you  would  disobey  him.  Of  course, 
if  this  is  your  determination,  we  are  powerless.  Even 
if  I  were  to  put  you  in  the  keeping  of  the  Church, 
which  is  what  I  am  sure  my  sister,  who  adopted  you 
as  her  child,  would  do,  if  she  were  alive,  you  would 
devise  some  means  of  escape,  and  thus  bring  a  still 
greater  and  more  public  scandal  on  the  family.  Felipe 
thinks  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  attempt  to  bring 
you  to  reason  in  that  way ;  and  we  shall  therefore  do 
nothing.  I  wished  to  impress  it  upon  you  that  my 
son,  as  head  of  this  house,  and  I,  as  my  sister's  repre 
sentative,  consider  you  a  member  of  our  own  family. 
So  long  as  we  have  a  home  for  ourselves,  that  home  is 
yours,  as  it  always  has  been.  If  you  choose  to  leave 
it,  and  to  disgrace  yourself  and  us  by  marrying  an 
Indian,  we  cannot  help  ourselves." 

The  Senora  paused.  Ramona  did  not  speak.  Her 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  Senora's  face,  as  if  she  would 
penetrate  to  her  inmost  soul ;  the  girl  was  beginning 
to  recognize  the  Senora's  true  nature ;  her  instincts 
and  her  perceptions  were  sharpened  by  love. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  to  me  or  to  my  son  ? " 
asked  the  Senora. 

"  No,  Senora,"  replied  Ramona ;  "  I  do  not   think 


202  RAM  ON  A. 

of  anything  more  to  say  than  I  said  this  morning. 
Yes,"  she  added,  "there  is.  Perhaps  I  shall  not 
speak  with  you  again  before  I  go  away.  I  thank 
you  once  more  for  the  home  you  have  given  me  for 
so  many  years.  And  you  too,  Felipe,"  she  continued, 
curning  towards  Felipe,  her  face  changing,  all  her 
pent-up  affection  and  sorrow  looking  out  of  her  tear 
ful  eyes,  —  "  you  too,  dear  Felipe.  You  have  always 
been  so  good  to  me.  I  shall  always  love  you  as  long 
as  I  live  ; "  and  she  held  out  both  her  hands  to  him. 
Felipe  took  them  in  his,  and  was  about  to  speak, 
when  the  Senora  interrupted  him.  She  did  not  in 
tend  to  have  any  more  of  this  sort  of  affectionate 
familiarity  between  her  son  and  Eamona. 

"  Are  we  to  understand  that  you  are  taking  your 
leave  now  ? "  she  said.  "  Is  it  your  purpose  to  go  at 
once  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Senora,"  stammered  Eamona ;  "  I 
have  not  seen  Alessandro;  I  have  not  heard — " 
And  she  looked  up  in  distress  at  Felipe,  who  answered 
compassionately,  — 

"  Alessandro  has  gone." 

"  Gone  ! "  shrieked  Ramona.  "  Gone  !  not  gone, 
Felipe ! " 

"  Only  for  four  days,"  replied  Felipe.  "  To  Temec- 
ula.  I  thought  it  would  be  better  for  him  to  be 
away  for  a  day  or  two.  He  is  to  come  back  im 
mediately.  Perhaps  he  will  be  back  day  after  to 
morrow." 

"  Did  he  want  to  go  ?  What  did  he  go  for  ?  Why 
did  n't  you  let  me  go  with  him  ?  Oh,  why,  why  did 
he  go  ? "  cried  Eamona. 

"  He  went  because  my  son  told  him  to  go,"  broke 
in  the  Senora,  impatient  of  this  scene,  and  of  the 
sympathy  she  saw  struggling  in  Felipe's  expressive 
features.  "  My  son  thought,  and  rightly,  that  the 
sight  of  him  would  be  more  than  I  could  bear  just 


RAMON  A.  203 

now ;  so  he  ordered  him  to  go  away,  and  Alessandro 
obeyed." 

Like  a  wounded  creature  at  bay,  Eamona  turned 
suddenly  away  from  Felipe,  and  i'acing  the  Senora,, 
her  eyes  resolute  and  dauntless  spite  of  the  streaming 
tears,  exclaimed,  lifting  her  right  hand  as  she  spoke, 
"  You  have  been  cruel ;  God  will  punish  you !  "  and 
without  waiting  to  see  what  effect  her  words  had  pro 
duced,  without  looking  again  at  Felipe,  she  walked 
swiftly  out  of  the  room. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  Senora,  "  you  see  she  defies  us." 
•  "  She  is  desperate,"  said  Felipe.  "  I  am  sorry  I 
sent  Alessandro  away." 

"  No,  my  son,"  replied  the  Senora,  "  you  were  wise, 
as  you  always  are.  It  may  bring  her  to  her  senses, 
to  have  a  few  days'  reflection  in  solitude." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  keep  her  locked  up,  mother, 
do  you  ? "  cried  Felipe. 

The  Sefiora  turned  a  look  of  apparently  undis 
guised  amazement  on  him.  "  You  would  not  think 
that  best,  would  you  ?  Did  you  not  say  that  all  we 
could  do,  was  simply  not  to  interfere  with  her  in  any 
way  ?  To  wash  our  hands,  so  far  as  is  possible,  of 
all  responsibility  about  her  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  baffled  Felipe ;  "  that  was  what 
I  ^  said.  But,  mother  —  "  He  stopped.  He  did  not 
know  what  he  wanted  to  say. 

The  Sefiora  looked  tenderly  at  him,  her  face  full  of 
anxious  inquiry. 

"  What  is  it,  Felipe  dear  ?  Is  there  anything  more 
you  think  I  ought  to  say  or  do  ? "  she  asked. 

"  What  is  it  you  are  going  to  do,  mother  ? "  said 
Felipe.  "  I  don't  seem  to  understand  what  you  are 
going  to  do." 

"  Nothing,  Felipe  !  You  have  entirely  convinced 
me  that  all  effort  would  be  thrown  away.  I  shall  do 
nothing,"  replied  the  Senora.  "  Nothing  whatever." 


204  RAMONA. 

"  Then  as  long  as  Ramona  is  here,  everything  will 
be  just  as  it  always  has  been  ? "  said  Felipe. 

The  Senora  smiled  sadly.  "  Dear  Felipe,  do  you 
think  that  possible  ?  A  girl  who  has  announced  her 
determination  to  disobey  not  only  you  and  me,  but 
Father  Salvierderra,  who  is  going  to  bring  disgrace 
both  on  the  Moreno  and  the  Ortegna  name,  —  we 
can't  feel  exactly  the  same  towards  her  as  we  did  be 
fore,  can  we  ? " 

Felipe  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "  No,  of  course 
not.  But  I  mean,  is  everything  to  be  just  the  same, 
outwardly,  as  it  was  before  ? " 

"  I  supposed  so,"  said  the  Senora.  "  Was  not  that 
your  idea  ?  We  must  try  to  have  it  so,  I  think.  Do 
not  you  ? " 

u  Yes,"  groaned  Felipe,  "  if  we  can  I " 


xm. 

Senora  Moreno  had  never  before  been  so 
JL  discomfited  as  in  this  matter  of  Eamona  and 
Alessandro.  It  chafed  her  to  think  over  her  conver 
sation  with  Felipe  ;  to  recall  how  far  the  thing  she 
finally  attained  was  from  the  thing  she  had  in  view 
when  she  began.  To  have  Eamona  sent  to  the  con 
vent,  Alessandro  kept  as  overseer  of  the  place,  and 
the  Ortegna  jewels  turned  into  the  treasury  of  the 
Church,  —  this  was  the  plan  she  had  determined  on 
in  her  own  mind.  Instead  of  this,  Alessandro  was 
not  to  be  overseer  on  the  place ;  Eamona  would  not 
go  to  the  convent :  she  would  be  married  to  Ales 
sandro,  and  they  would  go  away  together ;  and  the 
Ortegna  jewels,  —  well,  that  was  a  thing  to  be  decided 
in  the  future ;  that  should  be  left  to  Father  Salvier- 
derra  to  decide.  Bold  as  the  Senora  was,  she  had 
not  quite  the  courage  requisite  to  take  that  question 
wholly  into  her  own  hands. 

One  thing  was  clear,  Felipe  must  not  be  consulted 
in  regard  to  them.  He  had  never  known  of  them, 
and  need  not  now.  Felipe  was  far  too  much  in  sym 
pathy  with  Eamona  to  take  a  just  view  of  the  situa 
tion.  He  would  be  sure  to  have  a  quixotic  idea  of 
Eamona's  right  of  ownership.  It  was  not  impossible 
that  Father  Salvierderra  might  have  the  same  feeling. 
If  so,  she  must  yield ;  but  that  would  go  harder  with 
her  than  all  the  rest.  Almost  the  Senora  would  have 
been  ready  to  keep  the  whole  thing  a  secret  from  the 
Father,  if  he  had  riot  been  at  the  time  of  the  Senora 
Ortegna's  death  fully  informed  of  all  the  particulars 


206  RAMON  A. 

of  her  bequest  to  her  adopted  child.  At  any  rate,  it 
would  be  nearly  a  year  before  the  Father  carne  again, 
and  in  the  mean  time  she  would  not  risk  writing 
about  it.  The  treasure  was  as  safe  in  Saint  Catha 
rine's  keeping  as  it  had  been  all  these  fourteen  years ;, 
it  should  still  lie  hidden  there.  When  Eamona  went 
away  with  Alessandro,  she  would  write  to  Father 
Salvierderra,  simply  stating  the  facts  in  her  own  way, 
and  telling  him  that  all  further  questions  must  wait 
for  decision  until  they  met. 

And  so  she  plotted  and  planned,  and  mapped  out 
the  future  in  her  tireless  weaving  brain,  till  she 
was  somewhat  soothed  for  the  partial  failure  of  her 
plans. 

There  is  nothing  so  skilful  in  its  own  defence  as  im 
perious  pride.  It  has  an  ingenious  system  of  its  own, 
of  reprisals,  —  a  system  so  ingenious  that  the  defeat 
must  be  sore  indeed,  after  which  it  cannot  still  find 
some  booty  to  bring  off !  And  even  greater  than  this 
ingenuity  at  reprisals  is  its  capacity  for  self-decep 
tion.  In  this  regard,  it  outdoes  vanity  a  thousand 
fold.  Wounded  vanity  knows  when  it  is  mortally 
hurt;  and  limps  off  the  field,  piteous,  all  disguises 
thrown  away.  But  pride  carries  its  banner  to  the  last ; 
and  fast  as  it  is  driven  from  one  field  unfurls  it  in 
another,  never  admitting  that  there  is  a  shade  less 
honor  in  the  second  field  than  in  the  first,  or  in  the 
third  than  in  the  ^second  ;  and  so  on  till  death.  It  is 
impossible  not  to  have  a  certain  sort  of  admiration 
for  this  kind  of  pride.  Cruel,  those  who  have  it,  are 
to  all  who  come  in  their  way ;  but  they  are  equally 
cruel  to  themselves,  when  pride  demands  the  sacri 
fice.  Such  pride  as  this  has  led  many  a  forlorn  hope, 
on  the  earth,  when  all  other  motives  have  died  out  of 
men's  breasts ;  has  won  many  a  crown,  which  has  not 
been  called  by  its  true  name. 

Before  the  afternoon  was  over,  the  Senora  had  her 


RAMON  A.  207 

plan,  her  chart  of  the  future,  as  it  were,  all  recon 
structed  ;  the  sting  of  her  discomfiture  soothed ;  the 
placid  quiet  of  her  manner  restored ;  her  habitual 
occupations  also,  and  little  ways,  all  resumed.  She 
was  going  to  do  "nothing"  in  regard  to  Eamona. 
Only  she  herself  knew  how  much  that  meant ;  how! 
bitterly  much !  She  wished  she  were  sure  that  Felipe 
also  would  do  "  nothing ; "  but  her  mind  still  misgave 
her  about  Felipe.  Uripityingly  she  had  led  him  on, 
and  entangled  him  in  his  own  words,  step  by  step, 
till  she  had  brought  him  to  the  position  she  wished 
him  to  take.  Ostensibly,  his  position  and  hers  were 
one,  their  action  a  unit;  all  the  same,  she  did  not 
deceive  herself  as  to  his  real  feeling  about  the  affair. 
He  loved  Eamona.  He  liked  Alessandro.  Barring 
the  question  of  family  pride,  which  he  had  hardly 
thought  of  till  she  suggested  it,  and  which  he  would 
not  dwell  on  apart  from  her  continuing  to  press  it,— 
barring  this,  he  would  have  liked  to  have  Alessandro 
marry  Eamona  and  remain  on  the  place.  All  this 
would  come  uppermost  in  Felipe's  mind  again  when 
he  was  removed  from  the  pressure  of  her  influence. 
Nevertheless,  she  did  not  intend  to  speak  with  him  on 
the  subject  again,  or  to  permit  him  to  speak  to  her. 
Her  ends  would  be  best  attained  by  taking  and  keep 
ing  the  ground  that  the  question  of  their  non-inter 
ference  having  been  settled  once  for  all,  the  painful 
topic  should  never  be  renewed  between  them.  In 
patient  silence  they  must  await  Eamona's  action  ; 
must  bear  whatever  of  disgrace  and  pain  she  chose 
to  inflict  on  the  family  which  had  sheltered  her  from 
her  infancy  till  now. 

The  details  of  the  "nothing"  she  proposed  to  do, 
slowly  arranged  themselves  in  her  mind.  There 
should  be  no  apparent  change  in  Eamona's  position 
in  the  house.  She  should  come  and  go  as  freely  as 
ever;  no  watch  on  her  movements;  she  should  eat, 


208  RAMON  A. 

sleep,  rise  up  and  sit  down  with  them,  as  before ; 
there  should  be  not  a  word,  or  act,  that  Felipe's 
sympathetic  sensitiveness  could  construe  into  any 
provocation  to  Ramona  to  run  away.  Nevertheless, 
Ramona  should  be  made  to  feel,  every  moment  of 
every  hour,  that  she  was  in  disgrace ;  that  she  was 
with  them,  but  not  of  them ;  that  she  had  chosen  an 
alien's  position,  and  must  abide  by  it.  How  this  was 
to  be  done,  the  Senora  did  not  put  in  words  to  her 
self,  but  she  knew  very  well.  If  anything  would 
bring  the  girl  to  her  senses,  this  would.  There  might 
still  be  a  hope,  the  Senora  believed,  so  little  did  she 
know  Ramona's  nature,  or  the  depth  of  her  affection 
for  Alessandro,  that  she  might  be  in  this  manner 
brought  to  see  the  enormity  of  the  offence  she  would 
commit  if  she  persisted  in  her  purpose.  And  if  she 
did  perceive  this,  confess  her  wrong,  and  give  up  the 
marriage,  —  the  Senora  grew  almost  generous  and 
tolerant  in  her  thoughts  as  she  contemplated  this 
contingency, —  if  she  did  thus  humble  herself  and 
return  to  her  rightful  allegiance  to  the  Moreno  house, 
the  Senora  would  forgive  her,  and  would  do  more  for 
her  than  she  had  ever  hitherto  done.  She  would  take 
her  to  Los  Angeles  and  to  Monterey ;  would  show  her 
a  little  more  of  the  world  ;  and  it  was  by  no  means 
unlikely  that  there  might  thus  come  about  for  her  a 
satisi'actory  and  honorable  marriage.  Felipe  should 
see  that  she  was  not  disposed  to  deal  unfairly  by 
Ramona  in  any  way,  if  Ramona  herself  would  behave 
properly. 

Ramona's  surprise,  when  the  Senora  entered  her 
room  just  before  supper,  and,  in  her  ordinary  tone, 
asked  a  question  about  the  chili  which  was  drying  on 
the  veranda,  was  so  great,  that  she  could  not  avoid 
showing  it  both  in  her  voice  and  look. 

The  Senora  recognized  this  immediately,  but  gave 
no  sign  of  having  done  so,  continuing  what  she  had 


RAMONA.  209 

to  say  about  the  chili,  the  hot  sun,  the  turning  of  the 
grapes,  etc.,  precisely  as  she  would  have  spoken  to 
Itamona  a  week  previous.  At  least,  this  was  what 
llamona  at  first  thought;  but  before  the  sentences 
were  finished,  she  had  detected  in  the  Senora's  eye  and 
tone  the  weapons  which  were  to  be  employed  against 
her.  The  emotion  of  half-grateful  wonder  with  which 
she  had  heard  the  first  words  changed  quickly  to 
heart-sick  misery  before  they  were  concluded ;  and 
she  said  to  herself :  "  That 's  the  way  she  is  going  to 
break  me  down,  she  thinks  !  But  she  can't  do  it.  I 
can  bear  anything  for  four  days ;  and  the  minute 
Alessandro  comes,  I  will  go  away  with  him."  This 
train  of  thought  in  Ilamona's  mind  was  reflected  in 
her  face.  The  Senora  saw  it,  and  hardened  herself 
still  more.  It  was  to  be  war,  then.  No  hope  of  sur 
render.  Very  well.  The  girl  had  made  her  choice. 

Margarita  was  now  the  most  puzzled  person  in 
the  household.  She  had  overheard  snatches  of  the 
conversation  between  Felipe  and  his  mother  and 
Ramona,  having  let  her  curiosity  get  so  far  the  better 
of  her  discretion  as  to  creep  to  the  door  and  listen. 
In  fact,  she  narrowly  escaped  being  caught,  having 
had  barely  time  to  begin  her  feint  of  sweeping  the 
passage-way,  when  Kamona,  flinging  the  door  wide 
open,  came  out,  after  her  final  reply  to  the  Senora, 
the  words  of  which  Margarita  had  distinctly  heard  .- 
"  God  will  punish  you." 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  how  dare  she  say  that  to  the 
Senora  ? "  ejaculated  Margarita,  under  her  breath  ; 
and  the  next  second  llamona  rushed  by,  not  even 
seeing  her.  But  the  Senora's  vigilant  eyes,  following 
llamona,  saw  her  ;  and  the  Senora's  voice  had  a  ring 
of  suspicion  in  it,  as  she  called,  "  How  comes  it  you 
are  sweeping  the  passage-way  at  this  hour  of  the  day, 
Margarita  ? " 

It  was  surely  the  devil  himself  that  put  into  Mar- 


210  RAMON  A. 

garita's  head  the  quick  lie  which  she  instantaneously 
told.  "  There  was  early  breakfast,  Senora,  to  be  cooked 
for  Alessandro,  who  was  setting  off  in  haste,  and  my 
mother  was  not  up,  so  I  had  it  to  cook." 

As  Margarita  said  this,  Felipe  fixed  his  eyes  steadily 
upon  her.  She  changed  color.  Felipe  knew  this  was 
a  lie.  He  had  seen  Margarita  peering  about  among 
the  willows  while  he  was  talking  with  Alessandro  at 
the  sheepfold  ;  he  had  seen  Alessandro  halt  for  a 
moment  and  speak  to  her  as  he  rode  past,  —  only  for 
a  moment ;  then,  pricking  his  horse  sharply,  he  had 
galloped  off  down  the  valley  road.  No  breakfast  had 
Alessandro  had  at  Margarita's  hands,  or  any  other's, 
that  morning.  What  could  have  been  Margarita's 
motive  for  telling  this  lie  ? 

But  Felipe  had  too  many  serious  cares  on  his  mind 
to  busy  himself  long  with  any  thought  of  Margarita 
or  her  fibs.  She  had  said  the  first  thing  which  came 
into  her  head,  most  likely,  to  shelter  herself  from  the 
Senora' s  displeasure  ;  which  was  indeed  very  near  the 
truth,  only  there  was  added  a  spice  of  malice  against 
Alessandro.  A  slight  undercurrent  of  jealous  antago 
nism  towards  him  had  begun  to  grow  up  among  the 
servants  of  late  ;  fostered,  if  not  originated,  by  Mar 
garita's  sharp  sayings  as  to  his  being  admitted  to 
such  strange  intimacy  with  the  family. 

While  Felipe  continued  ill,  and  was  so  soothed  to 
rest  by  his  music,  there  was  no  room  for  cavil.  It 
was  natural  that  Alessandro  came  and  went  as  a 
physician  might.  But  after  Felipe  had  recovered,  why 
should  this  freedom  and  intimacy  continue  ?  More 
than  once  there  had  been  sullen  mutterings  of  this 
kind  on  the  north  veranda,  when  all  the  laborers  and 
servants  were  gathered  there  of  an  evening,  Alessan 
dro  alone  being  absent  from  the  group,  and  the  sounds 
of  his  voice  or  his  violin  coming  from  the  south 
veranda,  where  the  family  sat. 


RAMONA.  211 

"  It  would  be  a  good  thing  if  we  too  had  a  bit  of 
music  now  and  then,"  Juan  Canito  would  grumble ; 
"  but  the  lad  's  chary  enough  of  his  bow  on  this  side 
the  house." 

"  Ho  !  we  're  not  good  enough  for  him  to  play  to  ! " 
Margarita  would  reply ;  "  '  Like  master,  like  servant/ 
is  a  good  proverb  sometimes,  but  not  always.  But 
there  's  a  deal  going  on,  on  the  veranda  yonder,  be 
sides  fiddling ! "  and  Margarita's  lips  would  purse 
themselves  up  in  an  expression  of  concentrated  mys 
tery  and  secret  knowledge,  well  fitted  to  draw  from 
everybody  a  fire  of  questions,  none  of  which,  how 
ever,  would  she  answer.  She  knew  better  than  to 
slander  the  Senorita  Eamona,  or  to  say  a  word  even 
reflecting  upon  her  unfavorably.  Not  a  man  or  a 
woman  there  would  have  borne  it.  They  all  had 
loved  Eamona  ever  since  she  came  among  them  as  a 
toddling  baby.  They  petted  her  then,  and  idolized 
her  now.  Not  one  of  them  whom  she  had  not  done 
good  offices  for,  —  nursed  them,  cheered  them,  re 
membered  their  birthdays  and  their  saints'-days.  To 
no  one  but  her  mother  had  Margarita  unbosomed 
what  she  knew,  and  what  she  suspected ;  and  old 
Marda,  frightened  at  the  bare  pronouncing  of  such 
words,  had  terrified  Margarita  into  the  solemnest  of 
promises  never,  under  any  circumstances  whatever,  to 
eay  such  things  to  any  other  member  of  the  family. 
Marda  did  not  believe  them.  She  could  not.  She  be 
lieved  that  Margarita's  jealousy  had  imagined  all. 

"  And  the  Senora ;  she  'd  send  yo\\  packing  off 
this  place  in  an  hour,  and  me  too,  long  's  I  've  lived 
here,  if  ever  she  was  to  know  of  you  blackening  the 
Senorita.  An  Indian,  too  !  You  must  be  mad,  Mar 
garita  ! " 

When  Margarita,  in  triumph,  had  flown  to  tell  her 
that  the  Senora  had  just  dragged  the  Senorita  Ea 
mona  up  the  garden-walk,  and  shoved  her  into  her 


212  RAMON  A. 

room  and  locked  the  door,  and  that  it  was  because 
she  had  caught  her  with  Alessandro  at  the  washing- 
stones,  Marda  first  crossed  herself  in  sheer  mechanical 
fashion  at  the  shock  of  the  story,  and  then  cuffed 
Margarita's  ears  for  telling  her. 

t(  1 11  take  the  head  off  your  neck,  if  you  say  that 
aloud  again  !  Whatever  's  come  to  the  Senora  !  Forty 
years  I  've  lived  under  this  roof,  and  I  never  saw  her 
lift  a  hand  to  a  living  creature  yet.  You  're  out  of 
your  senses,  child  ! "  she  said,  all  the  time  gazing  fear 
fully  towards  the  room. 

"  You  '11  see  whether  I  am  out  of  my  senses  or 
not,"  retorted  Margarita,  and  ran  back  to  the  dining- 
room.  And  after  the  diuing-roorn  door  was  shut, 
and  the  unhappy  pretence  of  a  supper  had  begun,  old 
Marda  had  herself  crept  softly  to  the  Senorita's  door 
and  listened,  and  heard  Eamona  sobbing  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.  Then  she  knew  that  what  Mar 
garita  had  said  must  be  true,  and  her  faithful  soul 
was  in  sore  straits  what  to  think.  The  Senorita  mis- 
demean  herself !  Never !  Whatever  happened,  it 
was  not  that !  There  was  some  horrible  mistake 
somewhere.  Kneeling  at  the  keyhole,  she  had  called 
cautiously  to  Eamona,  "  Oh,  my  lamb,  what  is  it  ? " 
But  Ramona  had  not  heard  her,  and  the  danger  was 
too  great  of  remaining  ;  so  scrambling  up  with  diffi 
culty  from  her  rheumatic  knees,  the  old  woman  had 
hobbled  back  to  the  kitchen  as  much  in  the  dark 
as  before,  and,  by  a  curiously  illogical  consequence, 
crosser  than  ever  to  her  daughter.  All  the  next  day 
she  watched  for  herself,  and  could  not  but  see  that 
all  appearances  bore  out  Margarita's  statements. 
Alessandro's  sudden  departure  had  been  a  tremen 
dous  corroboration  of  the  story.  Not  one  of  the  men 
had  had  an  inkling  of  it ;  Juan  Canito,  Luigo,  both 
alike  astonished  ;  no  word  left,  no  message  sent ; 
only  Seiior  Felipe  had  said  carelessly  to  Juan  Can, 


213 

after  breakfast .  *  You  '11  have  to  look  after  things 
yourself  for  a  few  days,  Juan.  Alessandro  has  gone 
to  Temecula." 

"  For  a  few  days  ! "  exclaimed  Margarita,  sarcas 
tically,  when  this  was  repeated  to  her.  "  That 's  easy 
said  !  If  Alessandro  Assis  is  seen  here  again,  I  '11  eat 
my  head  !  He  's  played  his  last  tune  on  the  south 
veranda,  I  wager  you." 

But  when  at  supper-time  of  this  same  eventful 
day  the  Senora  was  heard,  as  she  passed  the  Seno- 
rita's  door,  to  say  in  her  ordinary  voice,  "Are  you 
ready  for  supper,  Ramona  ? "  and  Ramona  was  seen 
to  come  out  and  walk  by  the  Senora's  side  to  the 
dining-room  ;  silent,  to  be  sure,  —  but  then  that  was 
no  strange  thing,  the  Senorita  always  was  more  silent 
in  the  Senora's  presence,  —  when  Marda,  standing 
in  the  court-yard,  feigning  to  be  feeding  her  chickens, 
but  keeping  a  close  eye  on  the  passage-ways,  saw 
this,  she  was  relieved,  and  thought :  "  It 's  only  a 
dispute  there  has  been.  There  will  be  disputes  in 
families  sometimes.  It  is  none  of  our  affair.  All 
is  settled  now." 

And  Margarita,  standing  in  the  dining-room, 
when  she  saw  them  all  coming  in  as  usual,  —  the 
Senora,  Felipe,  Ramona,  —  no  change,  even  to  her 
scrutinizing  eye,  in  anybody's  face,  was  more  sur 
prised  than  she  had  been  for  many  a  day  ;  and  began 
to  think  again,  as  she  had  more  than  once  since 
this  tragedy  began,  that  she  must  have  dreamed 
much  that  she  remembered. 

But  surfaces  are  deceitful,  and  eyes  see  little. 
Considering  its  complexity,  the  fineness  and  deli 
cacy  of  its  mechanism,  the  results  attainable  by  the 
human  eye  seem  far  from  adequate  to  the  expendi 
ture  put  upon  it.  We  have  nattered  ourselves  by 
inventing  proverbs  of  comparison  in  matter  of  blind 
ness,  —  "  blind  as  a  bat,"  for  instance.  It  would  be 


214  Jt.UTONA. 

safe  to  say  that  there  cannot  be  found  in  the  animal 
kingdom  a  bat,  or  any  other  creature,  so  blind  in  its 
own  range  of  circumstance  and  connection,  as  the 
greater  majority  of  human  beings  are  in  the  bosoms 
of  their  families.  Tempers  strain  and  recover,  hearts 
break  and  heal,  strength  falters,  fails,  and  comes  near 
to  giving  way  altogether,  every  day,  without  being 
noted  by  the  closest  lookers-on. 

Before  night  of  this  second  day  since  the  trouble 
had  burst  like  a  storm-cloud  on  the  peaceful  Moreno 
household,  everything  had  so  resumed  the  ordinary 
expression  and  routine,  that  a  shrewder  observer  and 
reasouer  than  Margarita  might  well  be  excused  for 
doubting  if  any  serious  disaster  could  have  occurred  to 
any  one.  Senor  Felipe  sauntered  about  in  his  usual 
fashion,  smoking  his  cigarettes,  or  lay  on  his  bed  in 
the  veranda,  dozing.  The  Senora  went  her  usual 
rounds  of  inspection,  fed  her  birds,  spoke  to  every 
one  in  her  usual  tone,  sat  in  her  carved  chair  with 
her  hands  folded,  gazing  out  on  the  southern  sky. 
Kainona  busied  herself  with  her  usual  duties,  dusted 
the  chapel,  put  fresh  flowers  before  all  the  Madonnas, 
and  then  sat  down  at  her  embroidery.  Eamona  had 
been  for  a  long  time  at  work  on  a  beautiful  altar- 
cloth  for  the  chapel.  It  was  to  have  been  a  present 
to  the  Senora.  It  was  nearly  done.  As  she  held  up 
the  frame  in  which  it  was  stretched,  and  looked  at 
the  delicate  tracery  of  the  pattern,  she  sighed.  It 
had  been  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  interest  and  hope 
lessness  that  she  had  for  months  been  at  work  on  it, 
often  saying  to  herself,  "  She  won't  care  much  for  it, 
beautiful  as  it  'is,  just  because  I  did  it ;  but  Father 
'Salvierderra  will  be  pleased  when  he  sees  it." 

Now,  as  she  wove  the  fine  threads  in  and  out,  she 
thought :  "  She  will  never  let  it  be  used  on  the  altar. 
I  wonder  if  I  could  any  way  get  it  to  Father  Salvier 
derra,  at  Santa  Barbara.  I  would  like  to  give  it  to 


RAMON  A.  215 

him.  I  will  ask  Alessandro.  I  'm  sure  the  Senora 
would  never  use  it,  and  it  would  be  a  shame  to  leave 
it  here.  I  shall  take  it  with  me."  But  as  she  thought 
these  things,  her  face  was  unruffled.  A  strange  com 
posure  had  settled  on  Eamona.  "  Only  four  days  ; 
only  four  days  :  I  can  bear  anything  for  four  days  ! " 
these  words  were  coming  and  going  in  her  mind  like 
refrains  of  songs  which  haunt  one's  memory  and  will 
riot  be  still.  She  saw  that  Felipe  looked  anxiously 
at  her,  but  she  answered  his  inquiring  looks  always 
with  a  gentle  smile.  It  was  evident  that  the  Senora 
did  not  intend  that  she  and  Felipe  should  have  any 
private  conversation;  but  that  did  not  so  much 
matter.  After  all,  there  was  not  so  much  to  be  said. 
Felipe  knew  all.  She  could  tell  him  nothing ;  Felipe 
had  acted  for  the  best,  as  he  thought,  in  sending 
Alessandro  away  till  the  heat  of  the  Senora's  anger 
should  have  spent  itself. 

After  her  first  dismay  at  suddenly  learning  that 
Alessandro  had  gone,  had  passed,  she  had  reflected 
that  it  was  just  as  well.  He  would  come  back  pre 
pared  to  take  her  with  him.  How,  or  where,  she  did 
not  know ;  but  she  would  go  with  no  question. 
Perhaps  she  would  not  even  bid  the  Senora  good-by ; 
she  wondered  how  that  would  arrange  itself,  and 
how  far  Alessandro  would  have  to  take  her,  to 
find  a  priest  to  marry  them.  It  was  a  terrible  thing 
to  have  to  do,  to  go  out  of  a  home  in  such  a  way : 
no  wedding  —  no  wedding  clothes  —  no  friends  —  to 
go  unmarried,  and  journey  to  a  priest's  house,  to 
have  the  ceremony  performed ;  "  but  it  is  not  my  fault," 
said  Eamona  to  herself ;  "  it  is  hers.  She  drives  me 
to  do  it.  If  it  is  wrong,  the  blame  will  be  hers. 
Father  Salvierderra  would  gladly  come  here  and  marry 
us,  if  she  would  send  for  him.  I  wish  we  could  go  to 
him,  Alessandro  and  I ;  perhaps  we  can.  I  would  not 
be  afraid  to  ride  so  far ;  we  could  do  it  in  two  days." 


216  TM/Vfl.V/1. 

The  more  Eamona  thought  of  this,  the  more  it  ap 
peared  to  her  the  natural  thing  for  them  to  do.  "  He 
will  be  on  our  side,  I  know  he  will,"  she  thought. 
"  He  always  liked  Alessandro,  and  he  loves  me." 

It  was  strange  how  little  bitterness  toward  the 
Senora  was  in  the  girl's  mind ;  how  comparatively 
little  she  thought  of  her.  Her  heart  was  too  full  of 
Alessandro  and  of  their  future  ;  and  it  had  never  been 
Earnona's  habit  to  dwell  on  the  Sefiora  in  her  thoughts. 
As  from  her  childhood  up  she  had  accepted  the 
fact  of  the  Senora's  coldness  toward  her,  so  now  she 
accepted  her  injustice  and  opposition  as  part  of  tlte 
nature  of  things,  and  not  to  be  altered. 

During  all  these  hours,  during  the  coming  and 
going  of  these  crowds  of  fears,  sorrows,  memories, 
anticipations  in  Ramona's  heart,  all  that  there  was 
to  be  seen  to  the  eye  was  simply  a  calm,  quiet  girl, 
sitting  on  the  veranda,  diligently  working  at  her  lace- 
frame.  Even  Felipe  was  deceived  by  her  calmness, 
and  wondered  what  it  meant,  —  if  it  could  be  that 
she  was  undergoing  the  change  that  his  mother 
had  thought  possible,  and  designated  as  coming 
"to  her  senses."  Even  Felipe  did  not  know  the 
steadfast  fibre  of  the  girl's  nature ;  neither  did  he 
realize  what  a  bond  had  grown  between  her  and  Ales 
sandro.  In  fact,  he  sometimes  wondered  of  what 
this  bond  had  been  made.  He  had  himself  seen  the 
greater  part  of  their  intercourse  with  each  other; 
nothing  could  have  been  farther  removed  from  any 
thing  like  love-making.  There  had  been  no  crises  of 
incident,  or  marked  moments  of  experience  such  as 
in  Felipe's  imaginations  of  love  were  essential  to  the 
fulness  of  its  growth.  This  is  a  common  mistake  on 
the  part  of  those  who  have  never  felt  love's  true  bonds. 
Once  in  those  chains,  one  perceives  that  they  are  not 
of  the  sort  full  forged  in  a  day.  They  are  made  as 
the  <vreat  iron  cables  are  made,  on  which  bridges  are 


RAMONA.  217 

swung  across  the  widest  water-channels,  —  not  of  sin 
gle  huge  rods,  or  bars,  which  would  be  stronger,  per 
haps,  to  look  at ;  but  of  myriads  of  the  finest  wires, 
each  one  by  itself  so  fine,  so  frail,  it  would  barely 
hold  a  child's  kite  in  the  wind :  by  hundreds,  hun 
dreds  of  thousands  of  such,  twisted,  re-twisted  to 
gether,  are  made  the  mighty  cables,  which  do  not  any 
more  swerve  from  their  place  in  the  air,  under  the 
weight  and  jar  of  the  ceaseless  traffic  and  tread  «f 
two  cities,  than  the  solid  earth  swerves  under  the 
same  ceaseless  weight  and  jar.  Such  cables  do  not 
break. 

Even  Eamona  herself  would  have  found  it  hard  to 
tell  why  she  thus  loved  Alessandro ;  how  it  began,  or 
by  what  it  grew.  It  had  not  been  a  sudden  adoration, 
like  his  passion  for  her ;  it  was,  in  the  beginning,  sim 
ply  a  response ;  but  now  it  was  as  strong  a  love  as 
his,  —  as  strong,  and  as  unchangeable.  The  Senora's 
harsh  words  had  been  like  a  forcing-house  air  to 
it,  and  the  sudden  knowledge  of  the  fact  of  her 
own  Indian  descent  seemed  to  her  like  a  revelation, 
pointing  out  the  path  in  which  destiny  called  her  to 
walk.  She  thrilled  with  pleasure  at  the  thought  of 
the  joy  with  which  Alessandro  would  hear  this,  —  the 
joy  and  the  surprise.  She  imagined  to  herself,  in 
hundreds  of  ways,  the  time,  place,  and  phrase  in  which 
she  would  tell  him.  She  could  not  satisfy  herself  as 
to  the  best ;  as  to  which  would  give  keenest  pleasure 
to  him  and  to  her.  She  would  tell  him,  as  soon  as 
she  saw  him ;  it  should  be  her  first  word  of  greeting. 
No !  There  would  be  too  much  of  trouble  and  embar 
rassment  then.  She  would  wait  till  they  were  far 
away,  till  they  were  alone,  in  the  wilderness  ;  and 
then  she  would  turn  to  him,  and  say,  "  Alessandro, 
my  people  are  your  people  !"  Or  she  would  wait,  and 
keep  her  secret  until  she  had  reached  Temecula,  and 
they  had  begun  their  lii'e  there,  and  Alessandro  had 


218  RAMON  A. 

been  astonished  to  see  how  readily  and  kindly  she  took 
to  all  the  ways  of  the  Indian  village;  and  then,  when 
he  expressed  some  such  emotion,  she  would  quietly 
say,  "  But  I  too  am  an  Indian,  Alessandro  ! " 

Strange,  sad  bride's  dreams  these ;  but  they  made 
Eamona's  heart  beat  with  happiness  as  she  dreamed 
them. 


XIV. 

THE  first  day  had  gone,  it  was  near  night  of  the 
second,  and  not  a  word  had  passed  between  Felipe 
and  Rarnona,  except  in  the  presence  of  the  Senora. 
It  would  have  been  beautiful  to  see,  if  it  had  not  been 
so  cruel  a  thing,  the  various  and  devious  methods  by 
which  the  Senora  had  brought  this  about.  Felipe, 
oddly  enough,  was  more  restive  under  it  than  Ramona. 
She  had  her  dreams.  He  had  nothing  but  his  rest 
less  consciousness  that  he  had  not  done  for  her  what 
he  hoped  ;  that  he  must  seem  to  her  to  have  been  dis 
loyal  ;  this,  and  a  continual  wonder  what  she  could 
be  planning  or  expecting  which  made  her  so  placid, 
kept  Felipe  in  a  fever  of  unrest,  of  which  his  mother 
noted  every  sign,  and  redoubled  her  vigilance. 

Felipe  thought  perhaps  he  could  speak  to  Eamona 
in  the  night,  through  her  window.  But  the  August 
heats  were  fierce  now ;  everybody  slept  with  wide- 
open  windows ;  the  Senora  was  always  wakeful ;  if  she 
should  chance  to  hear  him  thus  holding  secret  con 
verse  with  Ramona,  it  would  indeed  make  bad  matters 
worse.  Nevertheless^  he  decided  to  try  it.  At  the 
first  sound  of  his  footsteps  on  the  veranda  floor,  "My 
son,  are  you  ill  ?  Can  I  do  anything  ?  "  came  from 
the  Senora's  window.  She  had  not  been  asleep  at  all. 
It  would  take  more  courage  than  Felipe  possessed, 
to  try  that  plan  again;  and  he  lay  on  his  veranda 
bed,  this  afternoon,  tossing  about  with  sheer  impa 
tience  at  his  baffled  purpose,  Eamona  sat  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  taking  the  last  stitches  in  the  nearly  com 
pleted  altar-cloth.  The  Senora  sat  in  her  usual  seat, 


220  RAMONA. 

dozing,  with  her  head  thrown  back.  It  was  very  hot ; 
a  sultry  south-wind,  with  dust  from  the  desert,  had 
been  blowing  all  day,  and  every  living  creature  was 
more  or  less  prostrated  by  it. 

As  the  Senora's  eyes  closed,  a  sudden  thought  struck 
Felipe.  Taking  out  a  memorandum-book  in  which  he 
kept  his  accounts,  he  began  rapidly  writing.  Look 
ing  up,  and  catching  Eamona's  eye,  he  made  a  sign 
to  her  that  it  was  for  her.  She  glanced  apprehen 
sively  at  the  Senora.  She  was  asleep.  Presently 
Felipe,  folding  the  note,  and  concealing  it  in  his  hand, 
rose,  and  walked  towards  Ramona's  window,  Ramona 
terrifiedly  watching  him ;  the  sound  of  Felipe's  steps 
roused  the  Senora,  who  sat  up  instantly,  and  gazed 
about  her  with  that  indescribable  expression  pecul 
iar  to  people  who  hope  they  have  not  been  asleep, 
but  know  they  have.  "  Have  I  been  asleep  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  About  one  minute,  mother,"  answered  Felipe,  who 
was  leaning,  as  he  spoke,  against  Ramona's  open 
window,  his  arms  crossed  behind  him.  Stretching 
them  out,  and  back  and  forth  a  few  times,  yawning 
idly,  he  said,  "  This  heat  is  intolerable ! "  Then  he 
sauntered  leisurely  down  the  veranda  steps  into  the 
garden-walk,  and  seated  himself  on  the  bench  under 
the  trellis  there. 

The  note  had  been  thrown  into .  Ramona's  room. 
She  was  hot  and  cold  with  fear  lest  she  might  not  be 
able  to  get  it  unobserved.  What  if  the  Senora  were 
to  go  first  into  the  room  !  She  hardly  dared  look  at 
her.  But  fortune  is  not  always  on  the  side  of  tyrants. 
The  Senora  was  fast  dozing  off  again,  relieved  that 
Felipe  was  out  of  speaking  distance  of  Ramona.  As 
soon  as  her  eyes  were  again  shut,  Ramona  rose  to  go. 
The  Senora  opened  her  eyes.  Ramona  was  crossing 
the  threshold  of  the  door;  she  was  going  into  the 
house.  Good  !  Still  farther  away  from  Felipe. 


RAMON  A.  221 

"  Are  you  going  to  your  room,  Ramona  ?  "  said  the 
Senora. 

"  I  was,"  replied  Eamona,  alarmed.  "  Did  you  want 
me  here  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  Senora ;  and  she  closed  her  eyes 
again. 

In  a  second  more  the  note  was  safe  in  Eamona's 
hands. 

"  Dear  Ramona,"  Felipe  had  written,  "  I  am  dis 
tracted  because  I  cannot  speak  with  you  alone.  Can 
you  think  of  any  way  ?  I  want  to  explain  things  to 
you.  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  understand.  Don't  be 
unhappy.  Alessandro  will  surely  be  back  in  four 
days.  I  want  to  help  you  all  I  can,  but  you  saw  I 
could  not  do  much.  Nobody  will  hinder  your  doing 
what  you  please  ;  but,  dear,  I  wish  you  would  not  go 
away  from  us  ! " 

Tearing  the  paper  into  small  fragments,  Ramona 
thrust  them  into  her  bosom,  to  be  destroyed  later. 
Then  looking  out  of  the  window,  and  seeing  that  the 
Senora  was  now  in  a  sound  sleep,  she  ventured  to  write 
a  reply  to  Felipe,  though  when  she  would  find  a  safe 
opportunity  to  give  it  to  him,  there  was  no  telling. 
"  Thank  you,  dear  Felipe.  Don't  be  anxious.  I  am 
not  unhappy.  I  understand  all  about  it.  But  I  must 
go  away  as  soon  as  Alessandro  comes."  Hiding  this 
also  safe  in  her  bosom,  she  went  back  to  the  veranda. 
Felipe  rose,  and  walked  toward  the  steps.  Ramona, 
suddenly  bold,  stooped,  and  laid  her  note  on  the  sec 
ond  step.  Again  the  tired  eyes  of  the  Senora  opened. 
They  had  not  been  shut  five  minutes ;  Ramona  was 
at  her  work ;  Felipe  was  coming  up  the  steps  from 
the  garden.  He  nodded  laughingly  to  his  mother, 
and  laid  his  finger  on  his  lips.  All  was  well.  The 
Senora  dozed  again.  Her  nap  had  cost  her  more  than 
she  would  ever  know.  This  one  secret  interchange 
between  Felipe  and  Ramona  then,  thus  making,  as 


222  RAAIONA. 

it  were,  common  cause  with  each  other  as  against  her, 
and  in  fear  of  her,  was  a  step  never  to  be  recalled,  — 
a  step  whose  significance  could  scarcely  be  overesti 
mated.  Tyrants,  great  and  small,  are  apt  to  overlook 
such  possibilities  as  this  ;  to  forget  the  momentousness 
which  the  most  trivial  incident  may  assume  when 
forced  into  false  proportions  and  relations.  Tyranny 
can  make  liars  and  cheats  out  of  the  honestest  souls. 
It  is  done  oftener  than  any  except  close  students  of 
human  nature  realize.  When  kings  and  emperors  do 
this,  the  world  cries  out  with  sympathy,  and  holds 
the  plotters  more  innocent  than  the  tyrant  who  pro 
voked  the  plot.  It  is  Eussia  that  stands  branded  in 
men's  thoughts,  and  not  Siberia. 

The  Senora  had  a  Siberia  of  her  own,  and  it  was 
there  that  Eamona  was  living  in  these  days.  The 
Senora  would  have  been  surprised  to  know  how  little 
the  girl  felt  the  cold.  To  be  -  sure,  it  was  not  as  if 
she  had  ever  felt  warmth  in  the  Senora' s  presence  ; 
yet  between  the  former  chill  and  this  were  many 
degrees,  and  except  for  her  new  life,  and  new  love, 
and  hope  in  the  thought  of  Alessandro,  Eamona  could 
not  have  borne  it  for  a  day. 

The  fourth  day  came ;  it  seemed  strangely  longer 
than  the  others  had.  All  day  Eamona  watched  and 
listened.  Felipe,  too ;  for,  knowing  what  Alessandro's 
impatience  would  be,  he  had,  in  truth,  looked  for  him 
on  the  previous  night.  The  horse  he  rode  was  a  fleet 
one,  and  would  have  made  the  journey  with  ease  in 
half  the  time.  But  Felipe  reflected  that  there  might 
be  many  things  for  Alessandro  to  arrange  at  Temec- 
ula.  He  would  doubtless  return  prepared  to  take 
Eamona  back  with  him,  in  case  that  proved  the  only 
alternative  left  them.  Felipe  grew  wretched  as  his 
fancy  dwelt  on  the  picture  of  Eamona's  future.  He 
had  been  in  the  Temecula  village.  He  knew  its 
poverty ;  the  thought  of  Eaniona  there  was  monstrous. 


RAMONA.  223 

To  the  iudoleiit,  ease-loving  Felipe  it  was  incredible 
that  a  girl  reared  as  llamona  had  been,  could  for  a 
moment  contemplate  leading  the  life  of  a  poor  labor 
ing  man's  wife.  He  could  not  conceive  of  love's  mak 
ing  one  undertake  any  such  life.  Felipe  had  much 
to  learn  of  love.  Night  came  ;  no  Alessandro.  Till 
the  darkness  settled  down,  llamona  sat,  watching  the 
willows.  When  she  could  no  longer  see,  she  listened. 
The  Senora,  noting  all,  also  listened.  She  was  uneasy 
as  to  the  next  stage  of  affairs,  but  she  would  not 
speak.  Nothing  should  induce  her  to  swerve  from 
the  line  of  conduct  on  which  she  had  determined.  It 
was  the  full  of  the  moon.  When  the  first  broad  beam 
of  its  light  came  over  the  hill,  and  Hooded  the  garden 
and  the  white  front  of  the  little  chapel,  just  as  it  had 
done  on  that  first  night  when  Alessandro  watched 
with  Felipe  on  the  veranda,  Eamona  pressed  her  face 
against  the  window-panes,  and  gazed  out  into  the 
garden.  At  eacli  flickering  motion  of  the  shadows 
she  saw  the  form  of  a  man  approaching.  Again  and 
again  she  saw  it.  Again  and  again  the  breeze  died, 
and  the  shadow  ceased.  It  was  near  morning  before, 
weary,  sad,  she  crept  to  bed  ;  but  not  to  sleep.  With 
wide-open,  anxious  eyes,  she  still  watched  and  listened. 
Never  had  the  thought  once  crossed  her  mind  that 
Alessandro  might  not  come  at  the  time  Felipe  had 
said.  In  her  childlike  simplicity  she  had  accepted 
this  as  unquestioningly  as  she  had  accepted  other  facts 
in  her  life.  Now  that  he  did  not  come,  unreasoning 
and  unfounded  terror  took  possession  of  her,  and  she 
asked  herself  continually,  "  Will  he  ever  come  !  They 
sent  him  away  ;  perhaps  he  will  be  too  proud  to  come 
back  !  "  Then  faith  would  return,  and  saying  to  her 
self,  "  He  would  never,  never  forsake  me  ;  he  knows 
I  have  no  one  in  the  whole  world  but  him  ;  he  knows 
how  I  love  him,"  she  would  regain  composure,  and 
remind  herself  of  the  many  detentions  which  might 


224  RAMONA. 

have  prevented  his  coming  at  the  time  set.  Spite  of  all, 
however,  she  was  heavy  at  heart ;  and  at  breakfast  her 
anxious  eyes  and  absent  look  were  sad  to  see.  They 
hurt  Felipe.  Too  well  he  knew  what  it  meant.  He 
also  was  anxious.  The  Senora  saw  it  in  his  face,  and 
it  vexed  her.  The  girl  might  well  pine,  and  be  mor 
tified  if  her  lover  did  not  appear.  But  why  should 
Felipe  disquiet  himself  ?  The  Senora  disliked  it.  It 
was  a  bad  symptom.  There  might  be  trouble  ahead 
yet.  There  was,  indeed,  trouble  ahead,  —  of  a  sort  the 
Senora's  imaginings  had  not  pictured. 

Another  day  passed ;  another  night ;  another,  and 
another.  One  week  now  since  Alessandro,  as  he 
leaped  on  his  horse,  had  grasped  Felipe's  hand,  and 
said  :  "  You  will  tell  the  Senorita ;  you  will  make 
sure  that  she  understands  why  I  go ;  and  in  four  days 
I  will  be  back."  One  week,  and  he  had  not  come. 
The  three  who  were  watching  and  wondering  looked 
covertly  into  each  other's  faces,  each  longing  to  know 
what  the  others  thought. 

Ramona  was  wan  and  haggard.  She  had  scarcely 
slept.  The  idea  had  taken  possession  of  her  that 
Alessandro  was  dead.  On  the  sixth  and  seventh  days 
she  had  walked  each  afternoon  far  down  the  river 
road,  by  which  he  would  be  sure  to  come ;  down  the 
meadows,  and  by  the  cross-cut,  out  to  the  highway ; 
at  each  step  straining  her  tearful  eyes  into  the  dis 
tance, —  the  cruel,  blank,  silent  distance.  She  had 
come  back  after  dark,  whiter  and  more  wan  than  she 
went  out.  As  she  sat  at  the  supper-table,  silent, 
making  no  feint  of  eating,  only  drinking  glass  after 
glass  of  milk,  in  thirsty  haste,  even  Margarita  pitied 
'her.  But  the  Senora  did  not.  She  thought  the  best 
thing  which  could  happen,  would  be  that  the  Indian 
should  never  come  back.  Eamona  would  recover 
from  it  in  a  little  while ;  the  mortification  would  be 
the  worst  thing,  but  even  that,  time  would  heal.  She 


RAMONA.  225 

wondered  that  the  girl  had  not  more  pride  than  to  let 
her  wretchedness  be  so  plainly  seen.  She  herself 
would  have  died  before  she  would  go  about  with  such 
a  woe-begone  face,  for  a  whole  household  to  see  and 
gossip  about. 

On  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day,  Eamona,  desper 
ate,  waylaid  Felipe,  as  he  was  going  down  the  veranda 
steps.  The  Sefiora  was  in  the  garden,  and  saw  them  ; 
but  Eamona  did  not  care.  "  Felipe  ! "  she  cried,  "  I 
must,  1  must  speak  to  you  !  Do  you  think  Alessandro 
is  dead  ?  What  else  could  keep  him  from  coming  ?  " 
Her  lips  were  dry,  her  cheeks  scarlet,  her  voice  husky. 
A  few  more  days  of  this,  and  she  would  be  in  a  brain 
fever,  Felipe  thought,  as  he  looked  compassionately 
at  her. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  dear !  Do  not  think  that !  "  he  replied. 
"  A  thousand  things  might  have  kept  him." 

"  Ten  thousand  things  would  not !  Nothing  could  ! " 
said  Eamona.  "  I  know  he  is  dead.  Can't  you  send 
a  messenger,  Felipe,  and  see  ?  " 

The  Sencra  was  walking  toward  them.  She  over 
heard  the  last  words.  Looking  toward  Felipe,  no 
more  regarding  Eamona  than  if  she  had  not  been 
within  sight  or  hearing,  the  Senora  said,  "  It  seems 
to  me  that  would  not  be  quite  consistent  with  dignity. 
How  does  it  strike  you,  Felipe?  If  you  thought  best, 
we  might  spare  a  man  as  soon  as  the  vintage  is  done, 
I  suppose." 

Eamona  walked  away.  The  vintage  would  not  be 
over  for  a  week.  There  were  several  vineyards  yet 
which  had  not  been  touched ;  every  hand  on  the 
place  was  hard  at  work,  picking  the  grapes,  treading 
them  out  in  tubs,  emptying  the  juice  into  stretched 
raw-hides  swung  from  cross-beams  in  a  long  shed. 
In  the  willow  copse  the  brandy-still  was  in  full 
blast ;  it  took  one  man  to  watch  it ;  this  was  Juan 
Can's  favorite  work ;  for  reasons  of  his  own  he  liked 

15 


226  RAMCNA. 

best  to  do  it  alone  ;  and  now  that  he  could  no  longer 
tread  grapes  in  the  tubs,  he  had  a  better  chance 
for  uninterrupted  work  at  the  still.  "  No  ill  but 
has  its  good,"  he  thought  sometimes,  as  he  lay  com-, 
fortably  stretched  out  in  the  shade,  smoking  his  pipe 
day  after  day,  and  breathing  the  fumes  of  the  fiery 
brandy. 

As  Eamona  disappeared  in  the  doorway,  the  Senora, 
coming  close  to  Felipe,  and  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
said  in  a  confidential  tone,  nodding  her  head  in  the 
direction  in  which  Eamona  had  vanished  :  "  She  looks 
badly,  Felipe.  I  don't  know  what  we  can  do.  We 
surely  cannot  send  to  summon  back  a  lover  we  do 
not  wish  her  to  marry,  can  we  ?  It  is  very  perplex 
ing.  Most  unfortunate,  every  way.  What  do  you 
think,  my  son  ? "  There  was  almost  a  diabolical  art 
in  the  manner  in  which  the  Senora  could,  by  a  single 
phrase  or  question,  plant  in  a  person's  mind  the  pre 
cise  idea  she  wished  him  to  think  he  had  originated 
himself. 

"  No ;  of  course  we  can't  send  for  him,"  replied 
Felipe,  angrily ;  "  unless  it  is  to  send  for  him  to 
marry  her ;  I  wish  he  had  never  set  foot  on  the  place. 
I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  Eamona's  looks 
frighten  me.  I  believe  she  will  die." 

"  I  cannot  wish  Alessandro  had  never  set  foot  on 
the  place,"  said  the  Senora,  gently,  "  for  I  feel  that  I 
owe  your  life  to  him,  my  Felipe ;  and  he  is  not  to 
blame  for  Eamona's  conduct.  You  need  not  fear  her 
dying.  She  may  be  ill ;  but  people  do  not  die  of  love 
like  hers  for  Alessandro." 

"  Of  what  kind  do  they  die,  mother  ? "  asked  Felipe, 
impatiently. 

The  Senora  looked  reproachfully  at  him.  "  Not 
often  of  any,"  she  said  ;  "  but  certainly  not  of  a  sud 
den  passion  for  a  person  in  every  way  beneath  them, 
in  position,  in  education,  in  all  points  which  are 


RAMON  A.  227 

essential  to  congeniality  of  tastes  or  association  of 
life." 

The  Senora  spoke  calmly,  with  no  excitement,  as 
if  she  were  discussing  an  abstract  case.  Sometimes, 
when  she  spoke  like  this,  Felipe  for  the  moment  felt 
as  if  she  were  entirely  right,  as  if  it  were  really  a 
disgraceful  thin*'  in  Ramona  to  have  thus  loved  Ales- 

o  o 

sandro.  It  could  not  be  gainsaid  that  there  was  this 
gulf  of  which  she  spoke.  Alessandro  was  undeniably 
Ramona' s  inferior  in  position,  education,  in  all  the 
external  matters  of  life ;  but  in  nature,  in  true  nobil 
ity  of  soul,  no  !  Alessandro  was  no  man's  inferior  in 
these ;  and  in  capacity  to  love,  —  Felipe  sometimes 
wondered  whether  he  had  ever  known  Alessandro's 
equal  in  that.  This  thought  had  occurred  to  him 
more  than  once,  as  from  his  sick-bed  he  had,  unob 
served,  studied  the  expression  with  which  Alessandro 
gazed  at  Eamona.  But  all  this  made  no  difference  in 
the  perplexity  of  the  present  dilemma,  in  the  embar 
rassment  of  his  and  his  mother's  position  now.  Send 
a  messenger  to  ask  why  Alessandro  did  not  return ! 
Not  even  if  he  had  been  an  accepted  and  publicly 
recognized  lover,  would  Felipe  do  that !  Ramona 
ought  to  have  more  pride.  She  ought  of  herself  to 
know  that.  And  when  Felipe,  later  in  the  day,  saw 
Ramona  again,  he  said  as  much  to  her.  He  said  it 
as  gently  as  he  could ;  so  gently  that  she  did  not 
at 'first  comprehend  his  idea.  It  was  so  foreign,  so 
incompatible  with  her  faith,  how  could  she  ? 

When  she  did  understand,  she  said  slowly:  "You 
mean  that  it  will  not  do  to  send  to  find  out  if  Ales 
sandro  is  dead,  because  it  will  look  as  if  I  wished  him 
to  marry  me  whether  he  wished  it  or  not  ?  "  and  she 
fixed  her  eyes  on  Felipe's,  with  an  expression  he 
could  not  fathom. 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  answered,  "something  like  that, 
though  you  put  it  harshly." 


228  RAMONA. 

"  Is  it  not  true,"  she  persisted,  "  that  is  what  you 
mean  ? " 

Reluctantly  Felipe  admitted  that  it  was. 

Ramona  was  silent  for  some  moments ;  then  she 
said,  speaking  still  more  slowly,  "  If  you  feel  like  that, 
we  had  better  never  talk  about  Alessandro  again.  I 
suppose  it  is  not  possible  that  you  should  know,  as 
I  do,  that  nothing  but  his  being  dead  would  keep  him 
from  coming  back.  Thanks,  dear  Felipe  ; "  and  after 
this  she  did  not  speak  again  of  Alessandro. 

Days  went  by ;  a  week.  The  vintage  was  over. 
The  Senora  wondered  if  Ramona  would  now  ask 
again  for  a  messenger  to  go  to  Temecula.  Almost 
even  the  Senora  relented,  as  she  looked  into  the  girl's 
white  and  wasted  face,  as  she  sat  silent,  her  hands 
folded  in  her  lap,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  willows.  The 
altar-cloth  was  done,  folded  and  laid  away.  It  would 
never  hang  in  the  Moreno  chapel.  It  was  promised, 
in  Ramona's  mind,  to  Father  Salvierderra.  She  had 
resolved  to  go  to  him ;  if  he,  a  feeble  old  man,  could 
walk  all  the  way  between  Santa  Barbara  and  their 
home,  she  could  surely  do  the  same.  She  would  not 
lose  the  way.  There  were  not  many  roads  ;  she  could 
ask.  The  convent,  the  bare  thought  of  which  had 
been  so  temble  to  Ramona  fourteen  days  ago,  when 
the  Senora  had  threatened  her  with  it,  now  seemed  a 
heavenly  refuge,  the  only  shelter  she  craved.  There 
was  a  school  for  orphans  attached  to  the  convent  at 
San  Juan  Bautista,  she  knew ;  she  would  ask  the 
Father  to  let  her  go  there,  and  she  would  spend  the 
rest  of  her  life  in  prayer,  and  in  teaching  the  orphan 
girls.  As  hour  after  hour  she  sat  revolving  this  plan, 
her  fancy  projected  itself  so  vividly  into  the  future, 
that  she  lived  years  of  her  life.  She  felt  herself  mid 
dle-aged,  old.  She  saw  the  procession  of  nuns,  going 
to  vespers,  leading  the  children  by  the  hand;  herself 
wrinkled  and  white-haired,  walking  between  two  of 


RAMONA.  229 

the  little  ones.  The  picture  gave  her  peace.  As 
soon  as  she  grew  a  little  stronger,  she  would  set  off 
on  her  journey  to  the  Father ;  she  could  not  go  just 
yet,  she  was  too  weak ;  her  feet  trembled  if  she  did 
but  walk  to  the  foot  of  the  garden.  Alessaudro  was 
dead ;  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that.  He  was 
buried  in  that  little  walled  graveyard  of  which  he 
had  told  her.  Sometimes  she  thought  she  would  try 
to  go  there  and  see  his  grave,  perhaps  see  his  father ; 
if  Alessandro  had  told  him  of  her,  the  old  man  would 
be  glad  to  see  her  ;  perhaps,  after  all,  her  work  might 
lie  there,  among  Alessandro's  people.  But  this  looked 
hard ;  she  had  not  courage  for  it ;  shelter  and  rest 
were  what  she  wanted,  —  the  sound  of  the  Church's 
prayers,  and  the  Father's  blessing  every  day.  The 
convent  was  the  best. 

She  thought  she  was  sure  that  Alessandro  was  dead  > 
but  she  was  not,  for  she  still  listened,  still  watched. 
Each  day  she  walked  out  on  the  river  road,  and  sat 
waiting  till  dusk.  At  last  came  a  day  when  she  could 
not  go ;  her  strength  failed  her.  She  lay  all  day  on 
her  bed.  To  the  Senora,  who  asked  frigidly  if  she 
were  ill,  she  answered  •  "  No,  Senora,  I  do  not  think 
I  am  ill.  I  have  no  pain,  but  I  cannot  get  up.  I 
shall  be  better  to-morrow." 

"  I  will  send  you  strong  broth  and  a  medicine,"  the 
Senora  said ;  and  sent  her  both  by  the  hands  of  Mar 
garita,  whose  hatred  and  jealousy  broke  down  at  the 
first  sight  of  Ramona's  face  on  the  pillow ;  it  looked 
so  much  thinner  and  sharper  there  than  it  had  when 
she  was  sitting  up.  "  Oh,  Senorita  !  Senorita ! "  she 
cried,  in  a  tone  of  poignant  grief,  "  are  you  going  to 
die  ?  Forgive  me,  forgive  me  ! " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive  you,  Margarita,"  replied 
Eamona,  raising  herself  on  her  elbow,  and  lifting  her 
eyes  kindly  to  the  girl's  face  as  she  took  the  broth 
from  her  hands.  "  I  do  not  know  why  you  ask  me 
to  forgive  you." 


230  RAMON  A. 

Margarita  flung  herself  on  her  knees  by  the  bed, 
in  a  passion  of  weeping.  "  Oh,  but  you  do  know, 
Senorita,  you  do  know  !  Forgive  me  ! " 

"  No,  I  know  nothing,"  replied  Ramona ;  "  but  if 
you  know  anything,  it  is  all  forgiven.  I  am  not  go 
ing  to  die,  Margarita.  I  am  going  away,"  she  added, 
after  a  second's  pause.  Her  inmost  instinct  told  her 
that  she  could  trust  Margarita  now.  Alessandro  be 
ing  dead,  Margarita  would  no  longer  be  her  enemy, 
and  Margarita  could  perhaps  help  her.  "  I  am  going 
away,  Margarita,  as  soon  as  I  feel  a  little  stronger. 
I  am  going  to  a  convent ;  but  the  Senora  does  not 
know.  You  will  not  tell  ?  " 

"  No,  Senorita  ! "  whispered  Margarita,  —  thinking 
in  her  heart,  "  Yes,  she  is  going  away,  but  it  will  be 
with  the  angels." — "  No,  Senorita,  I  will  not  tell.  I 
will  do  anything  you  want  me  to." 

"Thanks,  Margarita  mia,"  replied  Ramona.  "I 
thought  you  would ; "  and  she  lay  back  on  her  pillow, 
and  closed  her  eyes,  looking  so  much  more  like  death 
than  like  life  that  Margarita's  tears  flowed  faster 
than  before,  arid  she  ran  to  her  mother,  sobbing  out, 
"  Mother,  mother !  the  Senorita  is  ill  to  death.  I 
am  sure  she  is.  She  has  taken  to  her  bed ;  and  she 
is  as  white  as  Sefior/Felipe  was  at  the  worst  of  the 
fever." 

"Ay,"  said  old  Marda,  who  had  seen  all  this  for 
days  back ;  "  ay,  she  has  wasted  away,  this  last  week, 
like  one  in  a  fever,  sure  enough  ;  I  have  seen  it.  It 
must  be  she  is  starving  herself  to  death." 

"  Indeed,  she  has  not  eaten  for  ten  days,  —  hardly 
since  that  day  ; "  and  Margarita  and  her  mother  ex 
changed  looks.  It  was  not  necessary  to  further  define 
the  day. 

"  Juan  Can  says  he  thinks  he  will  never  be  seen 
here  again,"  continued  Margarita. 

"  The  saints  grant  it,  then,"  said  Marda,  hotly,  "  if 


RAMONA.  231 

it  is  he  has  cost  the  Senorita  all  this !  I  am  that 
turned  about  in  my  head  with  it  all,  that  I've  no 
thoughts  to  think ;  but  plain  enough  it  is,  he  is  mixed 
up  with  whatever  't  is  has  gone  wrong." 

"  I  could  tell  what  it  is,"  said  Margarita,  her  old 
pertness  coming  uppermost  for  a  moment ;  "  but  I  've 
got  no  more  to  say,  now  the  Senorita's  lying  on  her 
bed,  with  the  face  she 's  got.  It 's  enough  to  break 
your  heart  to  look  at  her.  I  could  just  go  down  on 
my  knees  to  her  for  all  I  've  said ;  and  I  will,  and 
to  Saint  Francis  too  !  She  's  going  to  be  with  him 
before  long  ;  I  know  she  is." 

"  No,"  said  the  wiser,  older  Marda.  "  She  is  not 
so  ill  as  you  think.  She  is  young.  It 's  the  heart 's 
gone  out  of  her  ;  that 's  all.  I  've  been  that  way  my 
self.  People  are,  when  they  're  young." 

"  I  'm  young ! "  retorted  Margarita.  "  I  've  never 
been  that  way." 

"  There 's  many  a  mile  to  the  end  of  the  road,  my 
girl,"  said  Marda,  significantly  ;  "  and  '  It 's  ill  boast 
ing  the  first  day  out,'  was  a  proverb  when  I  was  your 
age  !" 

Marda  had  never  been  much  more  than  half-way 
fond  of  this  own  child  of  hers.  Their  natures  were 
antagonistic.  Traits  which,  in  Margarita's  father, 
had  embittered  many  a  day  of  Marda's  early  married 
life,  were  perpetually  cropping  out  in  Margarita, 
making  between  the  mother  and  daughter  a  barrier 
which  even  parental  love  was  not  always  strong 
enough  to  surmount.  And,  as  was  inevitable,  this 
antagonism  was  constantly  leading  to  things  which 
seemed  to  Margarita,  and  in  fact  were,  unjust  and  ill- 
founded. 

"  She  's  always  flinging  out  at  me,  whatever  I  do," 
thought  Margarita.  "  I  know  one  thing  ;  I  '11  never 
tell  her  what  the  Senorita's  told  me;  never,  —  not 
till  after  she 's  gone." 


2D2  RAMONA. 

A  sudden  suspicion  flashed  into  Margarita's  mind. 
She  seated  herself  on  the  bench  outside  the  kitchen 
door,  to  wrestle  with  it.  What  if  it  were  not  to  a 
convent  at  all,  but  to  Alessandro,  that  the  Senorita 
meant  to  go  !  No ;  that  was  preposterous.  If  it 
had  been  that,  she  would  have  gone  with  him  in  the 
outset.  Nobody  who  was  plotting  to  run  away  with  a 
lover  ever  wore  such  a  look  as  the  Senorita  wore  now. 
Margarita  dismissed  the  thought ;  yet  it  left  its  trace. 
She  would  be  more  observant  for  having  had  it ;  her 
resuscitated  affection  for  her  young  mistress  was  not 
yet  so  strong  that  it  would  resist  the  assaults  of 
jealousy,  if  that  passion  were  to  be  again  aroused  in 
her  fiery  soul.  Though  she  had  never  been  deeply 
in  love  with  Alessandro  herself,  she  had  been  enough 
so,  and  she  remembered  him  vividly  enough,  to  feel 
yet  a  sharp  emotion  of  displeasure  at  the  recollec 
tion  of  his  devotion  to  the  Senorita.  Now  that  the 
Senorita  seemed  to  be  deserted,  unhappy,  prostrated, 
she  had  no  room  for  anything  but  pity ,  for  her ; 
but  let  Alessandro  come  on  the  stage  again,  and 
all  would  be  changed.  The  old  hostility  would  re 
turn.  It  was  but  a  dubious  sort  of  ally,  after 
all,  that  Eamona  had  so  unexpectedly  secured  in 
Margarita.  She  might  prove  the  sharpest  of  broken 
reeds. 

It  was  sunset  of  the  eighteenth  day  since  Alessan- 
dro's  departure.  Eamona  had  lain  for  four  days  well- 
nigh  motionless  on  her  bed.  She  herself  began  to 
think  she  must  be  going  to  die.  Her  mind  seemed 
to  be  vacant  of  all  thought.  She  did  not  even  sorrow 
for  Alessandro's  death  ;  she  seemed  torpid,  body  and 
soul.  Such  prostrations  as  these  are  Nature's  en 
forced  rests.  It  is  often  only  by  help  of  them  that 
cur  bodies  tide  over  crises,  strains,  in  which,  if  we 
continued  to  battle,  we  should  be  slain. 

As  llamoua  lay  half  unconscious,  —  neither  awake 


RAMON  A.  233 

nor  yet  asleep,  —  on  this  evening,  she  was  suddenly 
aware  of  a  vivid  impression  produced  upon  her ;  it 
was  not  sound,  it  was  not  sight.  She  was  alone ; 
the  house  was  still  as  death  ;  the  warm  September 
twilight  silence  reigned  outside.  She  sat  up  in  her 
bed,  intent  —  half  alarmed  —  half  glad  —  bewildered 
—  alive.  What  had  happened  ?  Still  there  was  no 
sound,  no  stir.  The  twilight  was  fast  deepening ; 
not  a  breath  of  air  moving.  Gradually  her  bewil 
dered  senses  and  faculties  awoke  from  their  long- 
dormant  condition  ;  she  looked  around  the  room ; 
even  the  walls  seemed  revivified  ;  she  clasped  her 
hands,  and  leaped  from  the  bed.  "  Alessandro  is  not 
dead  !  "  she  said  aloud ;  and  she  laughed  hysterically. 
"  He  is  not  dead  ! "  she  repeated.  "  He  is  not  dead  ! 
He  is  somewhere  near  !  " 

With  quivering  hands  she  dressed,  and  stole  out  of 
the  house.  After  the  first  few  seconds  she  found  her 
self  strangely  strong ;  she  did  not  tremble ;  her  feet 
trod  firm  on  the  ground.  "  Oh,  miracle ! "  she  thought, 
as  she  hastened  down  the  garden-walk ;  "  I  am  well 
again  !  Alessandro  is  near  !  "  So  vivid  was  the  im 
pression,  that  when  she  reached  the  willows  and 
found  the  spot  silent,  vacant,  as  when  she  had  last 
sat  there,  hopeless,  broken-hearted,  she  experienced  a 
revulsion  of  disappointment.  "  Not  here  !  "  she  cried  ; 
"  not  here  ! "  and  a  swift  fear  shook  her.  "  Am  I 
mad  ?  Is  it  this  way,  perhaps,  people  lose  their 
senses,  when  they  are  as  I  have  been  ! " 

But  the  young,  strong  blood  was  running  swift  in 
her  veins.  No !  this  was  no  madness ;  rather  a 
newly  discovered  power ;  a  fulness  of  sense ;  a  reve 
lation.  Alessandro  was  near. 

Swiftly  she  walked  down  the  river  road.  The 
farther  she  went,  the  keener  grew  her  expectation, 
her  sense  of  Alessandro's  nearness.  In  her  present 
mood  she  \vould  have  walked  on  and  on,  even  to 


234  RAMONA. 

Temecula  itself,  sure  that  she  was  at  each  step  draw 
ing  nearer  to  Alessandro.  As  she  approached  the 
second  willow  copse,  which  lay  perhaps  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  west  of  the  first,  she  saw  the  figure  of  a  man, 
standing,  leaning  against  one  of  the  trees.  She  halted. 
It  could  not  be  Alessandro.  He  would  not  have 
paused  for  a  moment  so  near  the  house  where  he  was 
to  find  her.  She  was  afraid  to  go  on.  It  was  late 
to  meet  a  stranger  in  this  lonely  spot.  The  figure  was 
strangely  still;  so  still  that,  as  she  peered  through 
the  dusk,  she  half  fancied  it  might  be  an  optical 
illusion.  She  advanced  a  few  steps,  hesitatingly, 
then  stopped.  As  she  did  so,  the  man  advanced  a  few 
steps,  then  stopped.  As  he  came  out  from  the  shad 
ows  of  the  trees,  she  saw  that  he  was  of  Alessandro's 
height.  She  quickened  her  steps,  then  suddenly 
stopped  again.  What  did  this  mean  ?  It  could  not 
be  Alessandro.  Ramona  wrung  her  hands  in  agony 
of  suspense.  An  almost  unconquerable  instinct  urged 
her  forward  ;  but  terror  held  her  back.  After  stand 
ing  irresolute  for  some  minutes,  she  turned  to  walk 
back  to  the  house,  saying,  "  I  must  not  run  the  risk 
of  its  being  a  stranger.  If  it  is  Alessandro,  he  will 
come." 

But  her  feet  seemed  to  refuse  to  move  in  the 
opposite  direction.  Slower  and  slower  she  walked 
for  a  few  paces,  then  turned  again.  The  man  had 
returned  to  his  former  place,  and  stood  as  at  first, 
leaning  against  the  tree. 

"  It  may  be  a  messenger  from  him,"  she  said ;  "  a 
messenger  who  has  been  told  not  to  come  to  the 
house  until  after  dark." 

Her  mind  was  made  up.  She  quickened  her  pace 
to  a  run.  A  few  moments  more  brought  her  so  near 
that  she  could  see  distinctly.  It  was  —  yes,  it  was 
Alessandro.  He  did  not  see  her.  His  face  was  turned 
partially  away,  his  head  resting  against  the  tree ;  he 


RAMONA.  235 

must  be  ill.  Eamona  flew,  rather  than  ran.  In  a 
moment  more,  Alessandro  had  heard  the  light  steps, 
turned,  saw  Eamona,  and,  with  a  cry,  bounded  for 
ward,  and  they  were  clasped  in  each  other's  arms 
before  they  had  looked  in  each  other's  faces.  Ea 
mona  spoke  first.  Disengaging  herself  gently,  and 
looking  up,  she  began  :  "  Alessandro  —  "  But  at 
the  first  sight  of  his  face  she  shrieked.  Was  this 
Alessandro,  this  haggard,  emaciated,  speechless  man, 
who  gazed  at  her  with  hollow  eyes,  full  of  misery, 
and  no  joy  !  "  0  God,"  cried  Eamona,  "  you  have 
been  ill !  you  are  ill !  My  God,  Alessandro,  what 
is  it?" 

Alessandro  passed  his  hand  slowly  over  his  fore 
head,  as  if  trying  to  collect  his  thoughts  before  speak 
ing,  all  the  while  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  Eamona, 
with  the  same  anguished  look,  convulsively  holding 
both  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Senorita,"  he  said,  "  my  Senorita  !  "  Then  he 
stopped.  His  tongue  seemed  to  refuse  him  utter 
ance;  and  this  voice, —  this  strange,  hard,  unresonant 
voice,  —  whose  voice  was  it  ?  Not  Alessandro's. 

"  My  Senorita,"  he  began  again,  "  I  could  not  go 
without  one  sight  of  your  face ;  but  when  I  was  here, 
I  had  not  courage  to  go  near  the  house.  If  you  had 
not  come,  I  should  have  gone  back  without  seeing 
you." 

Eamona  heard  these  words  in  fast-deepening  terror. 
What  did  they  mean  ?  Her  look  seemed  to  suggest 
a  new  thought  to  Alessandro. 

"  Heavens,  Senorita  !  "  he  cried,  "  have  you  not 
heard  ?  Do  you  not  know  what  has  happened  ? " 

"  I  know  nothing,  love,"  answered  Eamona.  "  I 
have  heard  nothing  since  you  went  away.  For  ten 
days  I  have  been  sure  you  were  dead  ;  but  to-night 
something  told  me  that  you  were  near,  and  I  came  to 
meet  you." 


23G  RAMONA. 

At  the  first  words  of  Kamona's  sentence,  Alessan- 
dro  threw  his  arms  around  her  again.  As  she  said 
"love,"  his  whole  frame  shook  with  emotion. 

"  My  Senorita  ! "  he  whispered, "  my  Senorita  !  how 
shall  I  tell  you  !  How  shall  I  tell  you  ! " 

"  What  is  there  to  tell,  Alessandro  ? "  she  said. 
"  I  am  afraid  of  nothing,  now  that  you  are  here,  and 
not  dead,  as  I  thought." 

But  Alessandro  did  not  speak.  It  seemed  impos 
sible.  At  last,  straining  her  closer  to  his  breast,  he 
cried  :  "  Dearest  Senorita !  I  feel  as  if  I  should  die 
when  I  tell  you, —  I  have  no  home;  my  father  is 
dead ;  my  people  are  driven  out  of  their  village.  I 
am  only  a  beggar  now,  Senorita ;  like  those  you  used 
to  feed  and  pity  in  Los  Angeles  convent !  "  As  he 
spoke  the  last  words,  he  reeled,  and,  supporting  him 
self  against  the  tree,  added  :  "  I  am  not  strong, 
Senorita ;  we  have  been  starving." 

Kamona's  face  did  not  reassure  him.  Even  in  the 
dusk  he  could  see  its  look  of  incredulous  horror.  He 
misread  it. 

"  I  only  came  to  look  at  you  once  more,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  I  will  go  now.  May  the  saints  bless  you, 
my  Senorita,  always.  I  think  the  Virgin  sent  you  to 
me  to-night.  I  should  never  have  seen  your  face  if 
you  had  not  come." 

While  he  was  speaking,  Eamona  had  buried  her 
face  in  his  bosom.  Lifting  it  now,  she  said,  "  Did 
you  mean  to  leave  me  to  think  you  were  dead,  Ales 
sandro  ? " 

"  I  thought  that  the  news  about  our  village  must 
fhave  reached  you,"  he  said,  "  and  that  you  would 
"know  I  had  no  home,  and  could  not  come,  to  seem  to 
remind  you  of  what  you  had  said.  Oh,  Senorita,  it  was 
little  enough  I  had  before  to  give  you !  I  don't  know 
how  I  dared  to  believe  that  you  could  come  to  be 
with  me ;  but  I  loved  you  so  much,  I  had  thought  of 


RAMONA.  237 

many  things  I  could  do ;  and  —  "  lowering  his  voice 
and  speaking  almost  sullenly  —  "it  is  the  saints,  I 
believe,  who  have  punished  me  thus  for  having  re 
solved  to  leave  my  people,  and  take  all  I  had  for  my 
self  and  you.  Now  they  have  left  me  nothing  ; "  and 
he  groaned. 

"Who?"  cried  Eamona.  "Was  there  a  battle? 
Was  your  father  killed  ?  "  She  was  trembling  with 
horror. 

"  No,"  answered  Alessandro.  "  There  was  no  bat 
tle.  There  would  have  been,  if  I  had  had  my  way ; 
but  my  father  implored  me  not  to  resist.  He  said  it 
would  only  make  it  worse  for  us  in  the  end.  The 
sheriff,  too,  he  begged  me  to  let  it  all  go  on  peaceably, 
and  help  him  keep  the  people  quiet.  He  felt  terribly 
to  have  to  do  it.  It  was  Mr.  Eothsaker,  from  San 
Diego.  We  had  often  worked  for  him  on  his  ranch. 
He  knew  all  about  us.  Don't  you  recollect,  Seiiorita, 
I  told  you  about  him,  —  how  fair  he  always  was,  and 
kind  too  ?  He  has  the  biggest  wheat-ranch  in  Cajon ; 
we  Ve  harvested  miles  and  miles  of  wheat  for  him. 
He  said  he  would  have  rather  died,  almost,  than  have 
had  it  to  do  ;  but  if  we  resisted,  he  would  have  to 
order  his  men  to  shoot.  He  had  twenty  men  with  him. 
They  thought  there  would  be  trouble  ;  and  well  they 
might,  —  turning  a  whole  village  full  of  men  and 
women  and  children  out  of  their  houses,  and  driving 
them  off  like  foxes.  If  it  had  been  any  man  but  Mr. 
Eothsaker,  I  would  have  shot  him  dead,  if  I  had 
hung  for  it ;  but  I  knew  if  he  thought  we  must  go, 
there  was  no  help  for  us." 

"  But,  Alessandro,"  interrupted  Eamona,  "I  can't 
understand.  Who  was  it  made  Mr.  Eothsaker  do  it  ? 
Who  has  the  land  now  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  who  they  are,"  Alessandro  replied, 
his  voice  full  of  anger  and  scorn.  "  They  're  Ameri 
cans,  —  eight  or  ten  of  them.  They  all  got  together 


238  RAMONA. 

and  brought  a  suit,  they  call  it,  up  in  San  Francisco ; 
and  it  was  decided  in  the  court  that  they  owned  all 
our  land.  That  was  all  Mr.  Rothsaker  could  tell 
about  it.  It  was  the  law,  he  said,  and  nobody  could 
go  against  the  law." 

"  Oh,"  said  Eamona,  "  that 's  the  way  the  Ameri 
cans  took  so  much  of  the  Senora's  land  away  from 
her.  It  was  in  the  court  up  in  San  Francisco ; 
and  they  decided  that  miles  and  miles  of  her  laud, 
which  the  General  had  always  had,  was  not  hers 
at  all.  They  said  it  belonged  to  the  United  States 
Government." 

"  They  are  a  pack  of  thieves  and  liars,  every  one 
of  them  ! "  cried  Alessandro.  "  They  are  going  to 
steal  all  the  land  in  this  country  ;  we  might  all  just 
as  well  throw  ourselves  into  the  sea,  and  let  them 
have  it.  My  father  has  been  telling  me  this  for 
years.  He  saw  it  coming ;  but  I  did  not  believe 
him.  I  did  not  think  men  could  be  so  wicked  ;  but 
he  was  right.  I  am  glad  he  is  dead.  That  is  the 
only  thing  I  have  to  be  thankful  for  now.  One  day 
I  thought  he  was  going  to  get  well,  and  I  prayed  to 
the  Virgin  not  to  let  him.  I  did  not  want  him  to 
live.  He  never  knew  anything  clear  after  they  took 
hirn  out  of  his  house.  That  was  before  I  got  there. 
I  found  him  sitting  on  the  ground  outside.  They 
said  it  was  the  sun  that  had  turned  him  crazy ;  but 
it  was  not.  It  was  his  heart  breaking  in  his  bosom. 
He  would  not  come  out  of  his  house,  and  the  men 
lifted  him  up  and  carried  him  out  by  force,  and  threw, 
him  on  the  ground  ;  and  then  they  threw  out  all  the 
furniture  we  had ;  and  when  he  saw  them  doing  that, 
he  put  his  hands  up  to  his  head,  and  called  out, 
'  Alessandro  !  Alessandro  ! '  and  I  was  not  there  ! 
Senorita,  they  said  it  was  a  voice  to  make  the  dead 
hear,  that  he  called  with  ;  and  nobody  could  stop 
him.  All  that  day  and  all  the  night  he  kept  on 


RAMONA.  239 

calling.  God !  Sefiorita,  I  wonder  I  did  not  die  when 
they  told  me  !  When  I  got  there,  some  one  had 
built  up  a  little  booth  of  tule  over  his  head,  to  keep 
the  sun  off.  He  did  not  call  any  more,  only  for 
water,  water.  That  was  what  made  them  think  the 
sun  had  done  it.  They  did  all  they  could ;  but  it 
was  such  a  dreadful  time,  nobody  could  do  much  ; 
the  sheriff's  men  were  in  great  hurry ;  they  gave  no 
time.  They  said  the  people  must  all  be  off  in  two 
days.  Everybody  was  running  hither  and  thither. 
Everything  out  of  the  houses  in  piles  on  the  ground. 
The  people  took  all  the  roofs  off  their  houses  too. 
They  were  made  of  the  tule  reeds  ;  so  they  would  do 
again.  Oh,  Seriorita,  don't  ask  me  to  tell  you  any 
more  !  It  is  like  death.  I  can't !  " 

Ramona  was  crying  bitterly.  She  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  What  was  love,  in  face  of  such  calam 
ity  ?  What  had  she  to  give  to  a  man  stricken  like 
this  ? 

"  Don't  weep,  Senorita,"  said  Alessandro,  drearily. 
"  Tears  kill  one,  and  do  no  good." 

"  How  long  did  your  father  live  ?  "  asked  Ramoria, 
clasping  her  arms  closer  around  his  neck.  They  were 
sitting  on  the  ground  now,  and  Ramona,  yearning 
over  Alessandro,  as  if  she  were  the  strong  one  and  he 
the  one  to  be  sheltered,  had  drawn  his  head  to  her 
bosom,  caressing  him  as  if  he  had  been  hers  for  years. 
Nothing  could  have  so  clearly  shown  his  enfeebled 
and  benumbed  condition,  as  the  manner  in  which 
he  received  these  caresses,  which  once  would  have 
made  him  beside  himself  with  joy.  He  leaned  against 
her  breast  as  a  child  might. 

"  He  !  He  died  only  four  days  ago.  I  stayed  to 
bury  him,  and  then  I  came  away.  I  have  been  three 
days  on  the  way ;  the  horse,  poor  beast,  is  almost 
weaker  than  I.  The  Americans  took  my  horse," 
Alessaudro  said. 


240  RAMON  A. 

"  Took  your  horse  !  "  cried  Ramona,  aghast.  "  Is 
that  the  law,  too  ?  " 

"  So  Mr.  Eothsaker  told  me.  He  said  the  judge  had 
said  he  must  take  enough  of  our  cattle  and  horses  to 
pay  all  it  had  cost  for  the  suit  up  in  San  Francisco. 
They  did  n't  reckon  the  cattle  at  what  they  were  worth, 
I  thought ;  but  they  said  cattle  were  selling  very  low 
now.  There  were  not  enough  in  all  the  village  to 
pay  it,  so  we  had  to  make  it  up  in  horses ;  and  they 
took  mine.  I  was  not  there  the  day  they  drove  the 
cattle  away,  or  I  would  have  put  a  ball  into  Benito's 
head  before  any  American  should  ever  have  had  him 
to  ride.  But  I  was  over  in  Pachanga  with  my  father. 
He  would  not  stir  a  step  for  anybody  but  me ;  so  I 
led  him  all  the  way ;  and  then  after  he  got  there  he 
was  so  ill  I  never  left  him  a  minute.  He  did  not 
know  me  any  more,  nor  know  anything  that  had 
happened.  I  built  a  little  hut  of  tule,  and  lie  lay 
on  the  ground  till  he  died.  When  I  put  him  in  his 
grave,  I  was  glad." 

"  In  Temecula  ? "  asked  Eamona. 

"  In  Temecula ! "  exclaimed  Alessandro,  fiercely. 
"  You  don't  seem  to  understand,  Senorita.  We  have 
no  right  in  Temecula,  not  even  to  our  graveyard  full 
of  the  dead.  Mr.  Rothsaker  warned  us  all  not  to  be 
hanging  about  there ;  for  he  said  the  men  who  were 
coming  in  were  a  rough  set,  and  they  would  shoot 
any  Indian  at  sight,  if  they  saw  him  trespassing  on 
their  property." 

"  Their  property  !  "  ejaculated  Ramona. 

"  Yes ;  it  is  theirs,"  said  Alessandro,  doggedly. 
"  That  is  the  law.  They  Ve  got  all  the  papers  to 
show  it.  That  is  what  my  father  always  said,  —  if 
the  Sefior  Valdez  had  only  given  him  a  paper !  But 
they  never  did  in  those  days.  Nobody  had  papers. 
The  American  law  is  different." 

"  It 's  a  law  of  thieves  !  "  cried  Ramona. 


RAMONA.  241 

"  Yes,  and  of  murderers  too,"  said  Alessandro. 
"Don't  you  call  my  father  murdered  just  as  much  as 
if  they  had  shot  him  ?  I  do  !  And,  0  Senorita,  my 
Senorita,  there  was  Jose  !  You  recollect  Jose",  who 
went  for  my  violin  ?  But,  my  beloved  one,  I  am 
killing  you  with  these  terrible  things  !  I  will  speak 
no  more." 

"  No,  no,  Alessandro.  Tell  me  all,  all.  You  must 
have  no  grief  I  do  not  share.  Tell  me  about  Jose," 
cried  Eamona,  breathlessly. 

"  Senorita,  it  will  break  your  heart  to  hear.  Josd 
was  married  a  year  ago.  He  had  the  best  house  in 
Temecula,  next  to  my  father's.  It  was  the  only  other 
one  that  had  a  shingled  roof.  And  he  had  a  barn 
too,  and  that  splendid  horse  he  rode,  and  oxen,  and 
a  flock  of  sheep.  He  was  at  home  when  the  sheriff 
came.  A  great  many  of  the  men  were  away,  grape- 
picking.  That  made  it  worse.  But  Jose  was  at 
home ;  for  his  wife  had  a  little  baby  only  a  few 
weeks  old,  and  the  child  seemed  sickly  and  not  like 
to  live,  and  Jose"  would  not  leave  it.  Jose  was  the 
first  one  that  saw  the  sheriff  riding  into  the  village, 
and  the  band  of  armed  men  behind  him,  and  Jose 
knew  what  it  meant.  He  had  often  talked  it  over 
with  me  and  with  my  father,  and  now  he  saw  that  it 
had  come ;  and  he  went  crazy  in  one  minute,  and  fell 
on  the  ground  all  froth  at  his  mouth.  He  had  had  a 
fit  like  that  once  before ;  and  the  doctor  said  if  he 
had  another,  he  would  die.  But  he  did  not.  They 
picked  him  up,  and  presently  he  was  better;  and 
Mr.  Rothsaker  said  nobody  worked  so  well  in  the 
moving  the  first  day  as  Jose  did.  Most  of  the 
'men  would  not  lift  a  hand.  They  sat  on  the  ground 
with  the  women,  and  covered  up  their  faces,  and 
would  not  see.  But  Jose*  worked ;  and,  Senorita,  one 
of  the  first  things  he  did,  was  to  run  with  my  father's 
violin  to  the  store,  to  Mrs.  Hartsel,  and  ask  her  to 

16 


242  RAMONA. 

hide  it  for  us  ;  Jos6  knew  it  was  worth  money.  But 
before  110011  the  second  day  he  had  another  fit,  and 
died  in  it,  —  died  right  in  his  own  door,  carrying  out 
some  of  the  things  ;  and  after  Carmeua  —  that 's  his 
wife's  name  —  saw  he  was  dead,  she  never  spoke,  but 
sat  rocking  back  and  forth  on  the  ground,  with  the 
baby  in  her  arms.  She  went  over  to  Pachanga  at 
the  same  time  I  did  with  my  father.  It  was  a  long 
procession  of  us." 

"  Where  is  Pachanga  ? "  asked  Ramona. 

"  About  three  miles  from  Temecula,  a  little  sort  of 
canon.  I  told  the  people  they  'd  better  move  over 
there  ;  the  land  did  not  belong  to  anybody,  and  per 
haps  they  could  make  a  living  there.  There  is  n't  any 
water ;  that 's  the  worst  of  it." 

"  No  water !  "  cried  Eamona. 

"  No  running  water.  There  is  one  little  spring, 
and  they  dug  a  well  by  it  as  soon  as  they  got  there ; 
so  there  was  water  to  drink,  but  that  is  all.  I  saw 
Carmena  could  hardly  keep  up,  and  I  carried  the 
baby  for  her  on  one  arm,  while  I  led  my  father 
with  the  other  hand ;  but  the  baby  cried,  so  she 
took  it  back.  I  thought  then  it  would  n't  live  the 
day  out ;  but  it  did  live  till  the  morning  of  the  day 
my  father  died.  Just  a  few  hours  before  he  died, 
Carmena  came  along  with  the  baby  rolled  up  in  her 
shawl,  and  sat  down  by  me  on  the  ground,  and  did 
not  speak.  When  I  said,  '  How  is  the  little  one  ? ' 
she  opened  her  shawl  and  showed  it  to  me,  dead. 
'  Good,  Carmena  ! '  said  I.  '  It  is  good  !  My  father 
is  dying  too.  We  will  bury  them  together.'  So  she 
sat  by  me  all  that  morning,  and  at  night  she  helped 
me  dig  the  graves.  I  wanted  to  put  the  baby  on 
my  father's  breast ;  but  she  said,  no,  it  must  have  a 
little  grave.  So  she  dug  it  herself;  and  we  put 
them  in  ;  and  she  never  spoke,  except  that  once.  She 
was  sitting  there  by  the  grave  when  I  came  away. 


RAMONA.  243 

I  made  a  cross  of  two  little  trees  with  the  houghs 
chopped  oft',  and  set  it  up  by  the  graves.  So  that  is 
the  way  our  new  graveyard  was  begun,  —  my  father 
and  the  little  baby  ;  it  is  the  very  young  and  the 
very  old  that  have  the  blessed  fortune  to  die.  I 
cannot  die,  it  seems ! " 

"  Where  did  they  bury  Jose  ?  "  gasped  Eamona. 

"  In  Temecula,"  said  Alessandro.  "  Mr.  Eothsaker 
made  two  of  his  men  dig  a  grave  in  our  old  graveyard 
for  Jose.  But  I  think  Carmena  will  go  at  night  and 
bring  his  body  away.  I  would  !  But,  my  Senorita, 
it  is  very  dark,  I  can  hardly  see  your  beloved  eyes. 
I  think  you  must  not  stay  longer.  Can  I  go  as  far  as 
the  brook  with  you,  safely,  without  being  seen  ?  The 
saints  bless  you,  beloved,  for  coming.  I  could  not 
have  lived,  I  think,  without  one  more  sight  of  your 
face;"  and,  springing  to  his  feet,  Alessandro  stood 
waiting  for  Eamona  to  move.  She  remained  still. 
She  was  in  a  sore  strait.  Her  heart  held  but  one 
impulse,  one  desire,  —  to  go  with  Alessandro ;  noth 
ing  was  apparently  farther  from  his  thoughts  than 
this.  Could  she  offer  to  go  ?  Should  she  risk  laying 
a  burden  on  him  greater  than  he  could  bear  ?  If  he 
were  indeed  a  beggar,  as  he  said,  would  his  life  be 
hindered  or  helped  by  her  ?  She  felt  herself  strong 
and  able.  Work  had  no  terrors  for  her ;  privations 
she  knew  nothing  of,  but  she  felt  no  fear  of  them. 

"  Alessandro ! "  she  said,  in  a  tone  which  startled 
him. 

"  My  Senorita  !  "  he  said  tenderly. 

"You  have  never  once  called  me  Eamona." 

"  I  cannot,  Senorita  ! "  he  replied. 

"  Why  not  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  sometimes  think  '  Eamona,'  "  he 
added  faintly ;  "  but  not  often.  If  I  think  of  y<?u  by 
any  other  name  than  as  my  Senorita,  it  is  usually  by 
a  name  you  never  heard." 


244  RAMON  A. 

"  What  is  it?  "  exclaimed  Ramona,  wonderingly. 

"  An  Indian  word,  my  dearest  one,  the  name  of  the 
bird  you  are  like,  —  the  wood-dove.  In  the  Luiseno 
tongue  that  is  Majel ;  that  was  what  I  thought  my 
people  would  have  called  you,  if  you  had  come  to- 
dwell  among  us.  It  is  a  beautiful  name,  Senorita,  and1 
is  like  you." 

Alessandro  was  still  standing.  Ramona  rose  ;  com 
ing  close  to  him,  she  laid  both  her  hands  on  his  breast, 
and  her  head  on  her  hands,  and  said  :  "  Alessandro, 
I  have  something  to  tell  you.  I  am  an  Indian.  I 
belong  to  your  people." 

Alessandro's  silence  astonished  her.  "  You  are  sur 
prised,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  you  would  be  glad." 

"  The  gladness  of  it  came  to  me  long  ago,  my 
Senorita,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  it !  " 

"  How  ? "  cried  Ramona.  "  And  you  never  told  me, 
Alessandro  ! " 

"  How  could  I  ? "  he  replied.  "  I  dared  not.  Juan 
Canito,  it  was,  told  me." 

"Juan  Canito!"  said  Ramona,  musingly.  "How 
could  he  have  known  ? "  Then  in  a  few  rapid  words 
she  told  Alessandro  all  that  the  Senora  had  told  her. 
"  Is  that  what  Juan  Can  said  ? "  she  asked. 

"All  except  the  father's  name,"  stammered  Ales 
sandro. 

"  Who  did  he  say  was  my  father  ? "  she  asked. 

Alessandro  was  silent. 

"  It  matters  not,"  said  Ramona.  "  He  was  wrong. 
The  Senora,  of  course,  knew.  He  was  a  friend  of  hers, 
and  of  the  Senora  Ortegna,  to  whom  he  gave  me.  But 
I  think,  Alessandro,  I  have  more  of  my  mother  than 
of  my  father." 

"  Yes,  you  have,  my  Senorita,"  replied  Alessandro, 
tenderly.  "  After  I  knew  it,  I  then  saw  what  it  was 
in  your  face  had  always  seemed  to  me  like  the  faces 
of  my  own  people." 


RAMONA.  245 

"  Are  you  not  glad,  Alessandro  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  Senorita." 

What  more  should  Kamona  say  ?  Suddenly  her 
heart  gave  way  ;  and  without  premeditation,  without 
resolve,  almost  without  consciousness  of  what  she 
was  doing,  she  flung  herself  on  Alessandro's  breast, 
and  cried :  "  Oh,  Alessandro,  take  me  with  you  j 
take  me  with  you !  I  would  rather  die  than  have 
you  leave  me  again!" 


XV. 

ALESSANDEO'S  first  answer  to  this  cry  of  Ea- 
niona's  was  a  tightening  of  his  arms  around 
her ;  closer  and  closer  he  held  her,  till  it  wras  almost 
pain ;  she  could  hear  the  throbs  of  his  heart,  but  he 
did  not  speak.  Then,  letting  his  arms  fall,  taking  her 
hand  in  his,  he  laid  it  on  his  forehead  reverently,  and 
said,  in  a  voice  which  was  so  husky  and  trembling 
she  could  barely  understand  his  words  :  "  My  Seno- 
rita  knows  that  my  life  is  hers.  She  can  ask  me  to  go 
into  the  fire  or  into  the  sea,  and  neither  the  fire  nor 
the  sea  would  frighten  me  ;  they  would  but  make  me 
glad  for  her  sake.  But  I  cannot  take  my  Seiiorita's 
life  to  throw  it  away.  She  is  tender  ;  she  would  die  ; 
she  cannot  lie  on  the  earth  for  a  bed,  and  have  no 
food  to  eat.  My  Senorita  does  not  know  what  she 
says." 

His  solemn  tone  ;  this  third-person  designation,  as 
if  he  were  speaking  of  her,  not  with  her,  almost  as 
if  he  were  thinking  aloud  to  God  rather  than  speak 
ing  to  her,  merely  calmed  and  strengthened,  did  not 
deter  Eamona.  "  I  am  strong ;  I  can  work  too,  Ales- 
sandro.  You  do  not  know.  We  can  both  work.  I 
am  not  afraid  to  lie  on  the  earth ;  and  God  will  give 
us  food,"  she  said. 

"  That  was  what  I  thought,  my  Senorita,  until  now. 
When  I  rode  away  that  morning,  I  had  it  in  my 
thoughts,  as  you  say,  that  if  you  were  not  afraid,  I 
would  not  be ;  and  that  there  would  at  least  always 
be  food,  and  I  could  make  it  that  you  should  never 
suffer ;  but,  Senorita,  the  saints  are  displeased.  They 


RAM  ON  A.  247 

do  not  pray  for  us  any  more.  It  is  as  my  father  said, 
they  have  forsaken  us.  These  Americans  will  destroy 
us  all.  I  do  not  know  but  they  will  presently  begin 
to  shoot  us  and  poison  us,  to  get  us  all  out  of  the 
country,  as  they  do  the  rabbits  and  the  gophers ;  it 
would  not  be  any  worse  than  what  they  have  done. 
Would  not  you  rather  be  dead,  Senorita,  than  be  as  I 
am  to-day  ? " 

Each  word  he  spoke  but  intensified  Eamona's 
determination  to  share  his  lot.  "  Alessandro,"  she 
interrupted,  "  there  are  many  men  among  your  people 
who  have  wives,  are  there  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  Senorita  !  "  replied  Alessandro,  wonderingly. 

"  Have  their  wives  left  them  and  gone  away,  now 
that  this  trouble  has  come  ? " 

"  No,  Senorita  !  "  still  more  wonderingly ;  "  how 
could  they?" 

"  They  are  going  to  stay  with  them,  help  them 
to  earn  money,  try  to  make  them  happier,  are  they 
not  ? " 

"  Yes,  Senorita."  Alessandro  began  to  see  whith 
er  these  questions  tended.  It  was  not  unlike  the 
Seiiora's  tactics,  the  way  in  which  Kamona  narrowed 
in  her  lines  of  interrogation. 

"Do  the  women  of  your  people  love  their  hus 
bands  very  much  ? " 

"Very  much,  Senorita."  A  pause.  It  was  very 
dark  now.  Alessandro  could  not  see  the  hot  currents 
running  swift  and  red  over  Ramona's  face ;  even  her 
neck  changed  color  as  she  asked  her  last  question. 
"  Do  you  think  any  one  of  them  loves  her  husband 
more  than  I  love  you,  Alessandro  ? " 

Alessandro's  arms  were  again  around  her,  before 
the  words  were  done.  Were  not  such  words  enough 
to  make  a  dead  man  live  ?  Almost ;  but  not  enough 
to  make  such  a  love  as  Alessandro's  selfish.  Ales 
sandro  was  silent. 


248  RAMONA. 

"  You  know  there  is  not  one  ! "  said  Eamona,  im 
petuously. 

"  Oh,  it  is  too  much  !  "  cried  Alessandro,  throwing 
his  arms  up  wildly.  Then,  drawing  her  to  him  again, 
he  said,  the  words  pouring  out  breathless  :  "  My  Serio- 
rita,  you  take  me  to  the  door  of  heaven,  hut  I  daro 
not  go  in.  I  know  it  would  kill  you,  Senorita,  to  live 
the  life  we  must  live.  Let  me  go,  dearest  Senorita ; 
let  me  go  !  It  had  been  better  if  you  had  never 
seen  me." 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  was  going  to  do,  Alessan 
dro,  if  you  had  not  come  ? "  said  Kamona.  "  I  was 
going  to  run  away  from  the  Senora's  house,  all  alone, 
and  walk  all  the  way  to  Santa  Barbara,  to  Father 
Salvierderra,  and  ask  him  to  put  me  in  the  convent 
at  San  Juan  Bautista  ;  and  that  is  what  I  will  do  now 
if  you  leave  me  ! " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Senorita,  my  Senorita,  you  will 
not  do  that !  My  beautiful  Senorita  in  the  convent ! 
No,  no  ! "  cried  Alessandro,  greatly  agitated. 

"  Yes,  if  you  do  not  let  me  come  with  you,  I  shall 
do  it.  I  shall  set  out  to-morrow." 

Her  words  carried  conviction  to  Alessandro's  soul. 
He  knew  she  would  do  as  he  said.  "  Even  that  would 
not  be  so  dreadful  as  to  be  hunted  like  a  wild  beast, 
Senorita  ;  as  you  may  be,  if  you  come  with  me." 

"  When  I  thought  you  were  dead,  Alessandro,  I  did 
not  think  the  convent  would  he  dreadful  at  all.  I 
thought  it  would  be  peace  ;  and  I  could  do  good, 
teaching  the  children.  But  if  I  knew  you  were  alive, 
I  could  never  have  peace  ;  not  for  one  minute  have 
peace,  Alessandro  !  I  would  rather  die,  than  not  be 
where  you  are.  Oh,  Alessandro,  take  me  with  you  !  " 

Alessandro  was  conquered.  "  I  will  take  you, 
my  most  beloved  Senorita,"  he  said  gravely,  —  no 
lover's  gladness  in  his  tone,  and  his  voice  was  hol 
low  ;  "  I  will  take  you.  Perhaps  the  saints  will  have 


RAMONA.  249 

mercy  on  you,  even  if  they  have  forsaken  me  and  my 
people ! " 

"  Your  people  are  my  people,  dearest ;  and  the  saints 
never  forsake  any  one  who  does  not  forsake  them. 
You  will  be  glad  all  our  lives  long,  Alessandro,"  cried 
Kamona  ;  and  she  laid  her  head  on  his  breast  in 
solemn  silence  for  a  moment,  as  if  registering  a  vow. 

Well  might  Felipe  have  said  that  he  would  hold 
himself  fortunate  if  any  woman  ever  loved  him  as 
Eamoria  loved  Alessandro. 

When  she  lifted  her.  head,  she  said  timidly,  now 
that  she  was  sure,  "Then  you  will  take  your  Ea- 
mona  with  you,  Alessandro  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  you  with  me  till  I  die ;  and  may  the 
Madonna  guard  you,  my  Ramona,"  replied  Alessan 
dro,  clasping  her  to  his  breast,  and  bowing  his  head 
upon  hers.  But  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
they  were  not  tears  of  joy ;  and  in  his  heart  he  said, 
as  in  his  rapturous  delight  when  he  first  saw  Eamona 
bending  over  the  brook  under  the  willows  he  had 
said  aloud,  "  My  God  !  what  shall  I  do ! " 

It  was  not  easy  to  decide  on  the  best  plan  of  pro 
cedure  now.  Alessandro  wished  to  go  boldly  to  the 
house,  see  Senor  Felipe,  and  if  need  be  the  Senora. 
Eamona  quivered  with  terror  at  the  bare  mention  of 
it.  "You  do  not  know  the  Senora,  Alessandro,"  she 
cried,  "  or  you  would  never  think  of  it.  She  has  been 
terrible  all  this  time.  She  hates  me  so  that  she  would 
kill  me  if  she  dared.  She  pretends  that  she  will  do 
nothing  to  prevent  my  going  away ;  but  I  believe  at 
the  last  minute  she  would  throw  me  in  the  well  in 
the  court-yard,  rather  than  have  me  go  with  you." 

"  I  would  never  let  her  harm  you,"  said  Alessandro. 
"  Neither  would  Senor  Felipe." 

"  She  turns  Felipe  round  her  finger  as  if  he  were 
soft  wax,"  answered  Eamona.  "  She  makes  him  of  a 
hundred  minds  in  a  minute,  and  he  can't  help  him- 


250  RAMON  A. 

self.  Oh,  I  think  she  is  in  league  with  the  fiends, 
Alessandro !  Don't  dare  to  come  near  the  house  ;  I 
will  come  here  as  soon  as  every  one  is  asleep.  We 
must  go  at  once." 

Ramona's  terrors  overruled  Alessandro's  judgment, 
and  he  consented  to  wait  for  her  at  the  spot  where 
they  now  stood.  She  turned  back  twice  to  embrace 
him  again.  "  Oh,  my  Alessandro,  promise  me  that  you 
will  not  stir  from  this  place  till  I  come,"  she  said. 

"  I  will  be  here  when  you  come,"  he  said. 

"  It  will  not  be  more  than  two  hours,"  she  said,  "  or 
three,  at  the  utmost.  It  must  be  nine  o'clock  now." 

She  did  not  observe  that  Alessandro  had  evaded 
the  promise  not  to  leave  the  spot.  That  promise  Ales 
sandro  would  not  have  given.  He  had  something  to 
do  in  preparation  for  this  unexpected  flight  of  Ilamona. 
In  her  innocence,  her  absorption  in  her  thoughts  of 
Alessandro  and  of  love,  she  had  never  seemed  to  con 
sider  how  she  would  make  this  long  journey.  As 
Alessandro  had  ridden  towards  Temecula,  eighteen 
days  ago,  he  had  pictured  himself  riding  back  on  his 
fleet,  strong  Benito,  and  bringing  Antonio's  matchless 
little  dun  mare  for  liamona  to  ride.  Only  eighteen 
short  days  ago ;  and  as  he  was  dreaming  that  very 
dream,  he  had  looked  up  and  seen  Antonio  on  the  little 
dun  mare,  galloping  towards  him  like  the  wind,  the 
overridden  creature's  breath  coming  from  her  like  pants 
of  a  steam-engine,  and  her  sides  dripping  blood,  where 
Antonio,  who  loved  her,  had  not  spared  the  cruel  spurs ; 
and  Antonio,  seeing  him,  had  uttered  a  cry,  and  fling 
ing  himself  off,  came  with  a  bound  to  his  side,  and  with 
gasps  between  his  words  told  him.  Alessandro  could 
not  remember  the  words,  only  that  after  them  he  set 
his  teeth,  and  dropping  the  bridle,  laid  his  head  down 
between  Benito's  ears,  and  whispered  to  him ;  and 
Benito  never  stopped,  but  galloped  on  all  that  day,  till 
he  came  into  Temecula  ;  and  there  Alessandro  saw  the 


RAMON  A.  251 

roofless  houses,  and  the  wagons  being  loaded,  and  the 
people  running  about,  the  women  and  children  wail 
ing  ;  and  then  they  showed  him  the  place  where  his 
father  lay  on  the  ground,  under  the  tule,  and  jump- 
ins  off'  Benito  he  let  him  go,  and  that  was  the  last  he 

o  « 

ever  saw  of  him.  Only  eighteen  days  ago !  And 
now  here  he  was,  under  the  willows,  —  the  same  copse 
where  he  first  halted,  at  his  first  sight  of  Eamona  ; 
and  it  was  night,  dark  night,  and  Kainona  had  been 
there,  in  his  arms  ;  she  was  his  ;  and  she  was  coming 
back  presently  to  go  away  with  him, —  where  !  He 
had  no  home  in  the  wide  world  to  which  to  take  her, 
—  and  this  poor  beast  he  had  ridden  from  Temecula, 
had  it  strength  enough  left  to  carry  her  ?  Alessandro 
doubted.  He  had  himself  walked  more  than  half  the 
distance,  to  spare  the  creature,  and  yet  there  had  been 
good  pasture  all  the  way ;  but  the  animal  had  been 
too  long  starved  to  recover  quickly.  In  the  Pachanga 
canon,  where  they  had  found  refuge,  the  grass  was 
burned  up  by  the  sun,  and  the  few  horses  taken  over 
there  had  suffered  wretchedly ;  some  had  died.  But 
Alessandro,  even  while  his  arms  were  around  Eamona, 
had  revolved  in  his  mind  a  project  he  would  not  have 
dared  to  confide  to  her.  If  Baba,  Eamona's  own  horse, 
was  still  in  the  corral,  Alessandro  could  without  diffi 
culty  lure  him  out.  He  thought  it  would  be  no  sin. 
At  any  rate,  if  it  were,  it  could  not  be  avoided.  The 
Senorita  must  have  a  horse,  and  Baba  had  always 
been  her  own ;  had  followed  her  about  like  a  dog  ever 
since  he  could  run  ;  in  fact,  the  only  taming  he  had 
ever  had,  had  been  done  by  Eamona,  with  bread  and 
honey.  He  was  intractable  to  others;  but  Eamona 
could  guide  him  by  a  wisp  of  his  silky  mane.  Ales 
sandro  also  had  nearly  as  complete  control  over  him  ; 
for  it  had  been  one  of  his  greatest  pleasures,  during 
the  summer,  when  he  could  not  see  Eamona,  to  caress 
and  fondle  her  horse,  till  Baba  knew  and  loved  him 


252  RAMONA. 

next  to  his  young  mistress.  If  only  Baba  were  in 
the  corral,  all  would  be  well.  As  soon  as  the  sound 
of  Kamona's  footsteps  had  died  away,  Alessandro  fol 
lowed  with  quick  but  stealthy  steps;  keeping  well 
down  in  the  bottom,  below  the  willows,  he  skirted  the 
terrace  where  the  artichoke-patch  and  the  sheepfolds 
lay,  and  then  turned  up  to  approach  the  corral  from 
the  farther  side.  There  was  no  light  in  any  of  the 
herdsmen's  huts.  They  were  all  asleep.  That  was 
good.  Well  Alessandro  knew  how  sound  they  slept ; 
many  a  night  while  he  slept  there  with  them  he  had 
walked  twice  over  their  bodies  as  they  lay  stretched  on 
skins  on  the  floor,  —  out  and  in  without  rousing  them. 
If  only  Baba  would  not  give  a  loud  whinny.  Leaning 
on  the  corral-fence,  Alessandro  gave  a  low,  hardly  au 
dible  whistle.  The  horses  were  all  in  a  group  together 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  corral.  At  the  sound  there 
was  a  slight  movement  in  the  group ;  and  one  of  them 
turned  and  came  a  pace  or  two  toward  Alessandro. 

"  I  believe  that  is  Baba  himself,"  thought  Alessan 
dro;  and  he  made  another  low  sound.  The  horse 
quickened  his  steps ;  then  halted,  as  if  he  suspected 
some  mischief. 

"  Baba,"  whispered  Alessandro.  The  horse  knew  his 
name  as  well  as  any  dog ;  knew  Alessandro's  voice  too ; 
but  the  sagacious  creature  seemed  instinctively  to  know 
that  here  was  an  occasion  for  secrecy  and  caution. 
If  Alessandro  whispered,  he,  Baba,  would  whisper 
back  ;  and  it  was  little  more  than  a  whispered  whinny 
which  he  gave,  as  he  trotted  quickly  to  the  fence, 
and  put  his  nose  to  Alessandro's  face,  rubbing  and 
kissing  and  giving  soft  whinnying  sighs. 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  Baba,"  whispered  Alessandro,  as  if 
he  were  speaking  to  a  human  being.  "  Hush  !  "  and 
he  proceeded  cautiously  to  lift  off  the  upper  rails  and 
bushes  of  the  fence.  The  horse  understood  instantly  ; 
and  as  soon  as  the  fence  was  a  little  lowered,  leaped 


RAMONA.  253 

over  it  anil  stood  still  by  Alessandro's  side,  while  he 
replaced  the  rails,  smiling  to  himself,  spite  of  his 
grave  anxiety,  to  think  of  Juan  Can's  wonder  in  the 
morning  as  to  how  Baba  had  managed  to  get  out  of 
the  corral. 

This  had  taken  only  a  few  moments.  It  was  bet 
ter  luck  than  Alessandro  had  hoped  for ;  emboldened 
by  it,  he  began  to  wonder  if  he  could  not  get  the  sad 
dle  too.  The  saddles,  harnesses,  bridles,  and  all  such 
things  hung  on  pegs  in  an  open  barn,  such  as  is  con 
stantly  to  be  seen  in  Southern  California ;  as  signifi 
cant  a  testimony,  in  matter  of  climate,  as  any  Signal 
Service  Report  could  be,  —  a  floor  and  a  roof ;  no  walls, 
only  corner  posts  to  hold  the  roof.  Nothing  but  sum 
mer-houses  on  a  large  scale  are  the  South  California 
barns.  Alessandro  stood  musing.  The  longer  he 
thought,  the  greater  grew  his  desire  for  that  saddle. 

"  Baba,  if  only  you  knew  what  I  wanted  of  you, 
you  'd  lie  down  on  the  ground  here  and  wait  while  I 
got  the  saddle.  But  I  dare  not  risk  leaving  you. 
Come,  Baba ! "  and  he  struck  down  the  hill  again,  the 
horse  following  him  softly.  When  he  got  down  be 
low  the  terrace,  he  broke  into  a  run,  with  his  hand 
in  Baba's  mane,  as  if  it  were  a  frolic ;  and  in  a  few 
moments  they  were  safe  in  the  willow  copse,  where 
Alessandro's  poor  pony  was  tethered.  Fastening 
Baba  with  the  same  lariat,  Alessandro  patted  him  on 
the  neck,  pressed  his  face  to  his  nose,  and  said  aloud, 
:'  Good  Baba,  stay  here  till  the  Senorita  comes." 
Baba  whinnied. 

"  Why  should  n't  he  know  the  Senorita's  name  !  I 
(  believe  he  does ! "  thought  Alessandro,  as  he  turned 
and  again  ran  swiftly  back  to  the  corral.  He  felt 
strong  now,  —  felt  like  a  new  man.  Spite  of  all  the 
terror,  joy  thrilled  him.  When  he  reached  the  corral, 
all  was  yet  still.  The  horses  had  not  moved  from  their 
former  position.  Throwing  himself  flat  on  the  ground, 


254  RAMON  A. 

Alessandro  crept  on  his  breast  from  the  corral  to  the 
barn,  several  rods'  distance.  This  was  the  most  haz 
ardous  part  of  his  adventure;  every  other  moment 
he  paused,  lay  motionless  for  some  seconds,  then  crept 
a  few  paces  more.  As  he  neared  the  corner  where 
llamona's  saddle  always  hung,  his  heart  beat.  Some 
times,  of  a  warm  night,  Luigo  slept  on  the  barn 
floor.  If  he  were  there  to-night,  all  was  lost.  Grop 
ing  in  the  darkness,  Alessandro  pulled  himself  up  on 
the  post,  felt  for  the  saddle,  found  it,  lifted  it,  and 
in  a  trice  was  flat  on  the  ground  again,  drawing  the 
saddle  along  after  him.  Not  a  sound  had  he  made, 
that  the  most  watchful  of  sheep-dogs  could  hear. 

"  Ha,  old  Capitan,  caught  you  napping  this  time  ! " 
said  Alessandro  to  himself,  as  at  last  he  got  safe  to 
the  bottom  of  the  terrace,  and,  springing  to  his  feet, 
bounded  away  with  the  saddle  on  his  shoulders.  It 
was  a  weight  for  a  starving  man  to  carry,  but  he 
felt  it  not,  for  the  rejoicing  he  had  in  its  possession. 
Now  his  Senorita  would  go  in  comfort.  To  ride  Baba 
was  to  be  rocked  in  a  cradle.  If  need  be,  Baba  would 
carry  them  both,  and  never  know  it ;  and  it  might 
come  to  that,  Alessandro  thought,  as  he  knelt  by  the 
side  of  his  poor  beast,  which  was  stretched  out  on  the 
ground  exhausted ;  Baba  standing  by,  looking  down 
in  scornful  wonder  at  this  strange  new  associate. 

"  The  saints  be  praised  ! "  thought  Alessandro,  as  he 
seated  himself  to  wait.  "  This  looks  as  if  they  would 
not  desert  my  Senorita." 

Thoughts  whirled  in  his  brain.  Where  should  they 
go  first  ?  What  would  be  best  ?  Would  they  be 
pursued  ?  Where  could  they  hide  ?  Where  should  he 
seek  a  new  home  ? 

It  was  bootless  thinking,  until  Eamona  was  by  his 
side.  He  must  lay  each  plan  before  her.  She  must 
decide.  The  first  thing  was  to  get  to  San  Diego,  to 
the  priest,  to  be  married.  That  would  be  three  days' 


EAMONA.  255 

hard  ride ;  five  for  the  exhausted  Indian  pony.  What 
should  they  eat  on  the  way  ?  Ah  !  Alessandro  be 
thought  him  of  the  violin  at  Hartsel's.  Mr.  Hartsel 
would  give  him  money  on  that;  perhaps  buy  it. 
Then  Alessandro  remembered  his  own  violin.  He, 
had  not  once  thought  of  it  before.  It  lay  in  its  case 
on  a  table  in  Sefior  Felipe's  room  when  he  came  away. 
Was  it  possible  ?  No,  of  course  it  could  not  be 
possible  that  the  Senorita  would  think  to  bring  it. 
What  would  she  bring  ?  She  would  be  wise,  Ales 
sandro  was  sure. 

How  long  the  hours  seemed  as  he  sat  thus  plotting 
and  conjecturing ;  more  and  more  thankful,  as  each 
hour  went  by,  to  see  the  sky  still  clouded,  the  dark 
ness  dense.  "It  must  have  been  the  saints,  too, 
that  brought  me  on  a  night  when  there  was  no 
moon,"  he  thought ;  and  then  he  said  again,  devout 
and  simple-minded  man  that  he  was,  "  They  mean 
to  protect  my  Senorita ;  they  will  let  me  take  care 
of  her." 

Eamona  was  threading  a  perilous  way,  through 
great  difficulties.  She  had  reached  her  room  unob 
served,  so  far  as  she  could  judge.  Luckily  for  her, 
Margarita  was  in  bed  with  a  terrible  toothache,  for 
which  her  mother  had  given  her  a  strong  sleeping- 
draught.  Margarita  was  disposed  of.  If  she  had  not 
been,  Eamona  would  never  have  got  away,  for  Mar 
garita  would  have  known  that  she  had  been  out  of 
the  house  for  two  hours,  and  would  have  watched  to 
see  what  it  meant. 

Eamona  came  in  through  the  court-yard ;  she 
dared  not  go  by  the  veranda,  sure  that  Felipe  and  his 
mother  were  sitting  there  still,  for  it  was  not  late. 

As  she  entered  her  room,  she  heard  them  talking. 
She  closed  one  of  her  windows,  to  let  them  know  she 
was  there.  Then  she  knelt  at  the  Madonna's  feet, 
and  in  an  inaudible  whisper  told  her  all  she  was 


256  RAMONA. 

going  to  do,  and  prayed  that  she  would  watch  over  her 
and  Alessandro,  and  show  them  where  to  go. 

"  I  know  she  will !  I  am  sure  she  will ! "  whispered 
Eamona  to  herself  as  she  rose  from  her  knees. 

Then  she  threw  herself  on  her  bed,  to  wait  till  the 
Senora  and  Felipe  should  be  asleep.  Her  brain  was 
alert,  clear.  She  knew  exactly  what  she  wished  to 
do.  She  had  thought  that  all  out,  more  than  two 
weeks  ago,  when  she  was  looking  for  Alessandro  hour 
by  hour. 

Early  in  the  summer  Alessandro  had  given  to  her, 
as  curiosities,  two  of  the  large  nets  which  the  Indian 
women  use  for  carrying  all  sorts  of  burdens.  They 
are  woven  out  of  the  fibres  of  a  flax-like  plant,  and 
are  strong  as  iron.  The  meshes  being  large,  they  are 
very  light ;  are  gathered  at  each  end,  and  fastened  to 
a  band  which  goes  around  the  forehead.  In  these 
can  be  carried  on  the  back,  with  comparative  ease, 
heavier  loads  than  could  be  lifted  in  any  other  way. 
Until  Eamona  recollected  these,  she  had  been  per 
plexed  to  know  how  she  should  carry  the  things 
which  she  had  made  up  her  mind  it  would  be  right 
for  her  to  take,  —  only  a  few  ;  simply  necessaries ;  one 
stuff  gown  and  her  shawls ;  the  new  altar-cloth,  and 
two  changes  of  clothes ;  that  would  not  be  a  great 
deal ;  she  had  a  right  to  so  much,  she  thought,  now 
that  she  had  seen  the  jewels  in  the  Senora's  keeping. 
"  I  will  tell  Father  Salvierderra  exactly  what  I  took," 
she  thought,  "  and  ask  him  if  it  was  too  much."  She 
did  not  like  to  think  that  all  these  clothes  she  must  take 
had  been  paid  for  with  the  Senora  Moreno's  money. 

And  Alessandro's  violin.  Whatever  else  she  left, 
that  must  go.  What  would  life  be  to  Alessandro 
without  a  violin  !  And  if  they  went  to  Los  Angeles, 
he  might  earn  money  by  playing  at  dances.  Already 
Eamona  had  devised  several  ways  by  which  they 
could  both  earn  money. 


RAMON  A.  257 

There  must  be  also  food  for  the  journey.  And  it 
must  be  good  food,  too ;  wine  for  Alessandro.  An 
guish  filled  her  heart  as  she  recalled  how  gaunt  he 
looked.  "  Starving,"  he  said  they  had  been.  Good 
God  !  Starving !  And  she  had  sat  down  each  day  at 
loaded  tables,  and  seen,  each  day,  good  food  thrown  to 
the  dogs  to  eat. 

It  was  long  before  the  Senora  went  to  her  room ; 
and  long  after  that  before  Felipe's  breathing  had  be 
come  so  deep  and  regular  that  Ramona  dared  feel  sure 
that  he  was  asleep.  At  last  she  ventured  out.  All 
was  dark ;  it  was  past  midnight. 

"  The  violin  first ! "  she  said  ;  and  creeping  into  the 
dining-room,  and  through  the  inner  door  to  Felipe's 
room,  she  brought  it  out,  rolled  it  in  shawl  after 
shawl,  and  put  it  in  the  net  with  her  clothes.  Then 
she  stole  out,  with  this  net  on  her  back,  "  like  a  true 
Indian  woman  as  I  am,"  she  said,  almost  gayly,  to 
herself,  —  through  the  court-yard,  around  the  south 
east  corner  of  the  house,  past  the  garden,  down  to  the 
willows,  where  she  laid  down  her  load,  and  went  back 
for  the  second. 

This  was  harder.  Wine  she  was  resolved  to  have, 
and  bread  and  cold  meat.  She  did  not  know  so  well 
where  to  put  her  hand  on  old  Marda's  possessions  as 
on  her  own,  and  she  dared  not  strike  a  light.  She 
made  several  journeys  to  the  kitchen  and  pantry  be 
fore  she  had  completed  her  store.  Wine,  luckily,  she 
found  in  the  dining-room,  —  two  full  bottles;  also 
milk,  which  she  poured  into  a  leathern  flask  which 
hung  on  the  wall  in  the  veranda. 

Now  all  was  ready.  She  leaned  from  her  window, 
and  listened  to  Felipe's  breathing.  "  How  can  I  go 
without  bidding  him  good-by  ?  "  she  said.  "  How 
can  I  ? "  and  she  stood  irresolute. 

"  Dear  Felipe  !  Dear  Felipe  !  He  has  always  been 
so  good  to  me !  He  has  done  all  he  could  for  me  3 

Yi 


258  RAMONA. 

I  wish  I  dared  kiss  him.     I  will  leave  a  note   for 
him." 

Taking  a  pencil  and  paper,  and  a  tiny  wax  taper, 
whose  light  would  hardly  be  seen  across  a  room, 
she  slipped  once  more  into  the  dining-room,  knelt  on 
the  floor  behind  the  door,  lighted  her  taper,  and 
wrote  :  — 

"  DEAR  FELIPE,  —  Alessandro  has  come,  and  I  am  gcx 
ing  away  with  him  to-night.  Don't  let  anything  be  done 
to  us,  if  you  can  help  it.  I  don't  know  where  we  are 
going.  I  hope,  to  Father  Salvierderra.  I  shall  love  you 
always.  Thank  you,  dear  Felipe,  for  all  your  kindness. 

"  RAMONA." 

It  had  not  taken  a  moment.  She  blew  out  her 
taper,  and  crept  back  into  her  room.  Felipe's  bed 
was  now  moved  close  to  the  wall  of  the  house. 
From  her  window  she  could  reach  its  foot.  Slowly, 
cautiously,  she  stretched  out  her  arm  and  dropped 
the  little  paper  on  the  coverlet,  just  over  Felipe's 
feet.  There  was  a  risk  that  the  Sefiora  would  come 
out  in  the  morning,  before  Felipe  awaked,  and  see  the 
note  first ;  but  that  risk  she  would  take. 

"  Farewell,  dear  Felipe  !  "  she  whispered,  under  her 
breath,  as  she  turned  from  the  window. 

The  delay  had  cost  her  dear.  The  watchful  Capi- 
tan,  from  his  bed  at  the  upper  end  of  the  court,  had 
half  heard,  half  scented  something  strange  going  on. 
As  Ramona  stepped  out,  he  gave  one  short,  quick 
bark,  and  came  bounding  down. 

"  Holy  Virgin,  I  am  lost !  "  thought  Eamona ;  but, 
crouching  on  the  ground,  she  quickly  opened  her  net, 
and  as  Capitan  came  towards  her,  gave  him  a  piece  of 
meat,  fondling  and  caressing  him.  While  he  ate  it, 
wagging  his  tail,  and  making  great  demonstrations  of 
joy,  she  picked  up  her  load  again,  and  still  fondling 
him,  said,  "  Come  on,  Capitan ! "  It  was  her  last 


RAMONA.  259 

chance.  If  he  barked  again,  somebody  would  bo 
waked ;  if  he  went  by  her  side  quietly,  she  might 
escape.  A  cold  sweat  of  terror  burst  on  her  forehead 
as  she  took  her  first  step  cautiously.  The  dog  fol 
lowed.  She  quickened  her  pace  ;  he  trotted  along, 
still  smelling  the  meat  in  the  net.  When  she  reached 
the  willows,  she  halted,  debating  whether  she  should 
give  him  a  large  piece  of  meat,  and  try  to  run  away 
while  he  was  eating  it,  or  whether  she  should  let  him 
go  quietly  along.  "She  decided  on  the  latter  course  j 
and,  picking  up  her  other  net,  walked  on.  She  was 
safe  now.  She  turned,  and  looked  back  towards  the 
house  ;  all  was  dark  and  still.  She  could  hardly  see 
its  outline.  A  great  wave  of  emotion  swept  over 
her.  It  was  the  only  home  she  had  ever  known. 
All  she  had  experienced  of  happiness,  as  well  as  of 
bitter  pain,  had  been  there,  —  Felipe,  Father  Salvier- 
derra,  the  servants,  the  birds,  the  garden,  the  dear 
chapel !  Ah,  if  she  could  have  once  more  prayed  in 
the  chapel !  Who  would  put  fresh  flowers  and  ferns 
in  the  chapel  now  ?  How  Felipe  would  miss  her, 
when  he  knelt  before  the  altar  !  For  fourteen  years 
she  had  knelt  by  his  side.  And  the  Senora,  —  the 
hard,  cold  Senora !  She  would  alone  be  glad.  Every 
body  else  would  be  sorry.  "  They  will  all  be  sorry  I 
have  gone,  —  all  but  the  Senora  !  I  wish  it  had  been 
so  that  I  could  have  bidden  them  all  good-by,  and  had 
them  all  bid  me  good-by,  and  wish  us  good  fortune  !  " 
thought  the  gentle,  loving  girl,  as  she  drew  a  long 
sigh,  and,  turning  her  back  on  her  home,  went  for 
ward  in  the  path  she  had  chosen. 

She  stooped  and  patted  Capitan  on  the  head.  "  Will 
you  come  with  me,  Capitan  ? "  she  said  ;  and  Capitan 
leaped  up  joyfully,  giving  two  or  three  short,  sharp 
notes  of  delight.  "  Good  Capitan,  come  !  They  will 
not  miss  him  out  of  so  many,"  she  thought,  "  and  it 
will  always  seem  like  something  from  home,  as  long 
as  T  hnve  Capitan." 


200  RAMONA. 

When  Alessandro  first  saw  Eamona's  figure  dimly 
in  the  gloom,'  drawing  slowly  nearer,  he  did  not  recog 
nize  it,  and  he  was  full  of  apprehension  at  the  sight. 
What  stranger  could  it  be,  abroad  in  these  lonely 
meadows  at  this  hour  of  the  night  ?  Hastily  he  led 
the  horses  farther  back  into  the  copse,  and  hid  him 
self  behind  a  tree,  to  watch.  In  a  few  moments  more 
lie  thought  he  recognized  Capitan,  bounding  by  the 
side  of  this  bent  and  slow-moving  figure.  Yet  this 
was  surely  an  Indian  woman  toiling  along  under  a 
heavy  load.  But  what  Indian  woman  would  have  so 
superb  a  colley  as  Capitan  ?  Alessandro  strained  his 
eyes  through  the  darkness.  Presently  he  saw  the 
figure  halt,  —  drop  part  of  its  burden. 

"  Alessandro  ! "  came  in  a  sweet,  low  call. 

He  bounded  like  a  deer,  crying,  "  My  Seiiorita  ! 
my  Senorita  !  Can  that  be  you  ?  To  think  that  you 
have  brought  these  heavy  loads  ! " 

Ramona  laughed.  "  Do  you  remember  the  day  you 
showed  me  how  the  Indian  women  carried  so  much 
on  their  backs,  in  these  nets  ?  I  did  not  think 
then  I  woiild  use  it  so  soon.  But  it  hurts  my 
forehead,  Alessandro.  It  is  n't  the  weight,  but  the 
strings  cut.  I  could  n't  have  carried  them  much 
farther ! " 

"Ah,  you  had  no  basket  to  cover  the  head,"  re 
plied  Alessandro,  as  he  threw  up  the  two  nets  on  his 
shoulders  as  if  they  had  been  feathers.  In  doing  so, 
he  felt  the  violin-case. 

"  Is  it  the  violin  ? "  he  cried.  "  My  blessed  one, 
where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  Off  the  table  in  Felipe's  room,"  she  answered. 
"  I  knew  you  would  rather  have  it  than  anything 
else.  I  brought  very  little,  Alessandro  ;  it  seemed 
nothing  while  I  was  getting  it ;  but  it  is  very  heavy 
to  carry.  Will  it  be  too  much  for  the  poor  tired 
horse  ?  You  and  I  can  walk.  And  see,  Alessandro, 


RAMONA.  201 

here  is  Capitan.     He  waked  up,  and  I  had  to  bring 
him,  to  keep  him  still.     Can't  he  go  with  us  ? " 

Capitan  was  leaping  up,  putting  his  paws  on  Ales- 
sandro's  breast,  licking  his  face,  yelping,  doing  all  a 
dog  could  do,  to  show  welcome  and  affection. 

Alessandro  laughed  aloud.  Eamona  had  not  more 
than  two  or  three  times  heard  him  do  this.  It  fright 
ened  her.  "Why  do  you  laugh,  Alessandro?"  she 
said. 

"  To  think  what  I  have  to  show  you,  my  Senorita," 
he  said.  "  Look  here  ; "  and  turning  towards  the  wil 
lows,  he  gave  two  or  three  low  whistles,  at  the  first 
note  of  which  Baba  came  trotting  out  of  the  copse  to 
the  end  of  his  lariat,  and  began  to  snort  and  whinny 
with  delight  as  soon  as  he  perceived  Eamona. 

Eamona  burst  into  tears.  The  surprise  was  too 
great. 

"  Are  you  not  glad,  Senorita  ?  "  cried  Alessandro, 
aghast.  "  Is  it  not  your  own  horse  ?  If  you  do  not 
wish  to  take  him,  I  will  lead  him  back.  My  pony 
can  carry  you,  if  we  journey  very  slowly.  But  I 
thought  it  would  be  joy  to  you  to  have  Baba." 

"  Oh,  it  is  !  it  is  !  "  sobbed  Eamona,  with  her  head 
on  Baba's  neck.  "  It  is  a  miracle,  —  a  miracle.  How 
did  he  come  here  ?  And  the  saddle  too  ! "  she  cried, 
for  the  first  time  observing  that.  "  Alessandro,"  in  an 
awe-struck  whisper,  "  did  the  saints  send  him  ?  Did 
you  find  him  here  ? "  It  would  have  seemed  to 
Eamoua's  faith  no  strange  thing,  had  this  been  so. 

"  I  think  the  saints  helped  me  to  bring  him," 
answered  Alessandro, seriously, "or  else  I  had  not  done 
it  so  easily.  I  did  but  call,  near  the  corral-fence,  and 
he  came  to  my  hand,  and  leaped  over  the  rails  at  my 
word,  as  quickly  as  Capitan  might  have  done.  He  is 
yours,  Senorita.  It  is  no  harm  to  take  him  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  answered  Eamona.  "  He  is  more  mine 
than  anything  else  I  had ;  for  it  was  Felipe  gave  him 


2G2  RAMONA. 

to  me  when  he  could  but  just  stand  on  his  legs ;  he 
was  only  two  days  old ;  and  I  have  fed  him  out  of 
my  hand  every  day  till  now ;  and  now  he  is  five. 
Dear  Baba,  we  will  never  be  parted,  never ! "  and 
she  took  his  paw  in  both  her  hands,  and  laid  her 
cheek  against  it  lovingly. 

Alessandro  was  busy,  fastening  the  two  nets  on 
either  side  the  saddle.  "  Baba  will  never  know 
he  has  a  load  at  all ;  they  are  not  so  heavy  as  my 
Senorita  thought,"  he  said.  "  It  was  the  weight  on  the 
forehead,  with  nothing  to  keep  the  strings  from  the 
skin,  which  gave  her  pain." 

Alessandro  was  making  all  haste.  His  hands  trem 
bled.  "  We  must  make  all  the  speed  we  can,  dearest 
Seiiorita,"  he  said,  "  for  a  few  hours.  Then  we  will 
rest.  Before  light,  we  will  be  in  a  spot  where  we  can 
hide  safely  all  day.  We  will  journey  only  by  night, 
lest  they  pursue  us." 

"  They  will  not,"  said  Kamona.  "  There  is  no 
danger.  The  Senora  said  she  should  do  nothing. 
'  Nothing ! ' "  she  repeated,  in  a  bitter  tone.  "  That 
is  what  she  made  Felipe  say,  too.  Felipe  wanted  to 
help  us.  He  would  have  liked  to  have  you  stay 
with  us ;  but  all  lie  could  get  was,  that  she  would  do 
'  nothing  ! '  But  they  will  not  follow  us.  They  will 
wish  never  to  hear  of  me  again.  I  mean,  the  Senora 
will  wish  never  to  hear  of  me.  Felipe  will  be  sorry. 
Felipe  is  very  good,  Alessandro." 

They  were  all  ready  now,  —  Eamona  on  Baba, 
the  two  packed  nets  swinging  from  her  saddle, 
one  on  either  side.  Alessandro,  walking,  led  his 
tired  pony.  It  was  a  sad  sort  of  procession  for 
one  going  to  be  wed,  but  Eamona's  heart  was  full 
of  joy. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  Alessandro,"  she  said ; 
"  I  should  think  I  would  be  afraid,  but  I  have  not 
the  least  fear,  —  not  the  least ;  not  of  anything  that 


RAMONA.  263 

can  come,  Alessandro,"  she  reiterated  with  emphasis. 
"  Is  it  not  strange  ? " 

"  Yes,  Senorita,"  he  replied  solemnly,  laying  his 
hand  on  hers  as  he  walked  close  at  her  side.  "  It  is 
strange.  I  am  afraid,  —  afraid  for  you,  my  Senorita  ! 
But  it  is  done,  and  we  will  not  go  back ;  and  perhaps 
the  saints  will  help  you,  and  will  let  me  take  care 
of  you.  They  must  love  you,  Senorita ;  but  they  do 
not  love  me,  nor  my  people." 

"  Are  you  never  going  to  call  me  by  my  name  ? " 
asked  Eamona.  "  I  hate  your  calling  me  Senorita. 
That  was  what  the  Senora  always  called  me  when 
she  was  displeased." 

"  I  will  never  speak  the  word  again  ! "  cried  Ales 
sandro.  "  The  saints  forbid  I  should  speak  to  you 
in  the  words  of  that  woman ! " 

"  Can't  you  say  Eamona  ? "  she  asked. 

Alessandro  hesitated.  He  could  not  have  told  why 
it  seemed  to  him  difficult  to  say  Eamona. 

"  What  was  that  other  name,  you  said  you  always 
thought  of  me  by  ? "  she  continued.  "  The  Indian 
name,  —  the  name  of  the  dove  ? " 

"  Majel,"  he  said.  "  It  is  by  that  name  I  have  often- 
est  thought  of  you  since  the  night  I  watched  all  night 
for  you,  after  you  had  kissed  me,  and  two  wood-doves 
were  calling  and  answering  each  other  in  the  dark ; 
and  I  said  to  myself,  that  is  what  my  love  is  like, 
the  wood-dove :  the  wood-dove's  voice  is  low  like 
hers,  and  sweeter  than  any  other  sound  in  the  earth  ; 
and  the  wood-dove  is  true  to  one  mate  always  — 
He  stopped. 

"  As  I  to  you,  Alessandro,"  said  Eamona,  leaning 
from  her  horse,  and  resting  her  hand  on  Alessandro's 
shoulder. 

Baba  stopped.  He  was  used  to  knowing  by  the 
most  trivial  signs  what  his  mistress  wanted ;  he  did 
not  understand  this  new  situation ;  no  one  had  ever 


2G4  RAMON  A. 

before,  when  Ramona  was  riding  him,  walked  by 
his  side  so  close  that  he  touched  his  shoulders,  and 
rested  his  hand  in  his  mane.  If  it  had  been  anybody 
else  than  Alessandro,  Baba  would  not  have  permitted 
it  even  now.  But  it  must  be  all  right,  since  Ramona 
was  quiet ;  and  now  she  had  stretched  out  her  hand 
and  rested  it  on  Alessaridro's  shoulder.  Did  that  mean 
halt  for  a  moment  ?  Baba  thought  it  might,  and 
acted  accordingly ;  turning  his  head  round  to  the 
right,  and  looking  back  to  see  what  came  of  it. 

Alessandro's  arms  around  Ramona,  her  head  bent 
down  to  his,  their  lips  together,  —  what  could  Baba 
think  ?  As  mischievously  as  if  he  had  been  a  human 
being  or  an  elf,  Baba  bounded  to  one  side  and  tore 
the  lovers  apart.  They  both  laughed,  and  cantered 
on,  —  Alessandro  running  ;  the  poor  Indian  pony 
feeling  the  contagion,  and  loping  as  it  had  not  done 
for  many  a  day. 

"Majel  is  my  name,  then,"  said  Ramona,  "  is  it? 
It  is  a  sweet  sound,  but  I  would  like  it  better 
Majella.  Call  me  Majella." 

"  That  will  be  good,"  replied  Alessandro,  "  for  the 
reason  that  never  before  had  any  one.  the  same  name. 
It  will  not  be  hard  for  me  to  say  Majella.  I  know 
not  why  your  name  of  Ramona  has  always  been  hard 
to  my  tongue." 

"  Because  it  was  to  be  that  you  should  call  me 
Majella,"  said  Ramona.  "  Remember,  I  am  Ramona 
no  longer.  That  also  was  the  name  the  Sefiora  called 
me  by  —  and  dear  Felipe  too,"  she  added  thought 
fully.  "  He  would  not  know  me  by  my  new  name. 
I  would  like  to  have  him  always  call  me  Ramoua. 
But  for  all  the  rest  of  the  world  I  am  Majella,  now,  — 
Alessandro's  Majel ! " 


XVI. 

AFTER  they  reached  the  highway,  and  had  trot 
ted  briskly  on  for  a  mile,  Alessandro  suddenly 
put  out  his  hand,  and  taking  Baba  by  the  rein,  began 
turning  him  round  and  round  in  the  road. 

"  We  will  not  go  any  farther  in  the  road,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  must  conceal  our  tracks  here.  We  will  go 
backwards  for  a  few  paces."  The  obedient  Baba 
backed  slowly,  half  dancing,  as  if  he  understood  the 
trick ;  the  Indian  pony,  too,  curvetted  awkwardly, 
then  by  a  sudden  bound  under  Alessandro's  skilful 
guidance,  leaped  over  a  rock  to  the  right,  and  stood 
waiting  further  orders.  Baba  followed,  and  Capitan ; 
and  there  was  no  trail  to  show  where  they  had  left 
the  road. 

After  trotting  the  pony  round  and  round  again 
in  ever-widening  circles,  cantering  off  in  one  direc 
tion  after  another,  then  backing  over  the  tracks  for 
a  few  moments,  Eamona  docilely  following,  though 
much  bewildered  as  to  what  it  all  meant,  Alessandro 
said  :  "  I  think  now  they  will  never  discover  where 
we  left  the  road.  They  will  ride  along,  seeing  our 
tracks  plain,  and  then  they  will  be  so  sure  that  we 
would  have  kept  straight  on,  that  they  will  not  no 
tice  for  a  time;  and  when  they  do,  they  will  never  be 
able  to  see  where  the  trail  ended.  And  now  my 
Majella  has  a  very  hard  ride  before  her.  Will  she 
be  afraid  ? " 

"  Afraid  ! "  laughed  Ramona.  "  Afraid,  —  on  Baba, 
and  with  you  !  " 

But  it  was  indeed  a  hard  ride.     Alessandro   had 


266  RAMON  A. 

decided  to  hide  for  the  day  in  a  canon  he  knew,  from 
which  a  narrow  trail  led  direct  to  Temecula,  —  a  trail 
which  was  known  to  none  but  Indians.  Once  in  this 
canon,  they  would  be  safe  from  all  possible  pursuit. 
Alessandro  did  not  in  the  least  share  Ramona's  confi 
dence  that  no  effort  would  be  made  to  overtake  them. 
To  his  mind,  it  appeared  certain  that  the  Senora 
would  never  accept  the  situation  without  making 
an  attempt  to  recover  at  least  the  horse  and  the 
dog.  "  She  can  say,  if  she  chooses,  that  I  have  stolen 
one  of  her  horses,"  he  thought  to  himself  bitterly ; 
"  and  everybody  would  believe  her.  Nobody  would 
believe  us,  if  we  said  it  was  the  Senorita's  own 
horse." 

The  head  of  the  canon  was  only  a  couple  of  miles 
from  the  road ;  but  it  was  in  a  nearly  impenetrable 
thicket  of  chaparral,  where  young  oaks  had  grown  up 
BO  high  that  their  tops  made,  as  it  were,  a  second 
stratum  of  thicket.  Alessandro  had  never  ridden 
through  it ;  he  had  come  up  on  foot  once  from  the 
other  side,  and,  forcing  his  way  through  the  tangle, 
had  found,  to  his  surprise,  that  he  was  near  the  high 
way.  It  was  from  this  canon  that  he  had  brought 
the  ferns  which  it  had  so  delighted  Eamona  to  arrange 
for  the  decoration  of  the  chapel.  The  place  was  filled 
with  them,  growing  almost  in  tropical  luxuriance  ; 
but  this  was  a  mile  or  so  farther  down,  and  to  reach 
that  spot  from  above,  Alessandro  had  had  to  let  him 
self  down  a  sheer  wall  of  stone.  The  canon  at  its 
head  was  little  more  than  a  rift  in  the  rocks,  and  the 
stream  which  had  its  rise  in  it  was  only  a  trickling 
spring  at  the  beginning.  It  was  this  precious  water, 
as  well  as  the  inaccessibility  of  the  spot,  which  had 
decided  Alessandro  to  gain  the  place  at  all  hazards 
and  costs.  But  a  wall  of  granite  would  not  have 
seemed  a  much  more  insuperable  obstacle  than  did 
this  wall  of  chaparral,  along  which  they  rode,  vainly 


RAMONA.  267 

searching  for  a  break  in  it.  It  appeared  to  Alessandro 
to  have  thickened  and  knit  even  since  the  last 
spring.  At  last  they  made  their  way  down  a  small 
side  canon,  —  a  sort  of  wing  to  the  main  cafion ; 
a  very  few  rods  down  this,  and  they  were  as  hidden 
from  view  from  above  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed 
them.  The  first  red  tints  of  the  dawn  were  coming. 
From  the  eastern  horizon  to  the  zenith,  the  whole  sky 
was  like  a  dappled  crimson  fleece. 

"  Oh,  what  a  lovely  place ! "  exclaimed  Eamona. 
"  I  am  sure  this  was  not  a  hard  ride  at  all,  Alessan 
dro  !  Is  this  where  we  are  to  stay  ?  " 

Alessandro  turned  a  compassionate  look  upon  her. 
"  How  little  does  the  wood-dove  know  of  rough 
places ! "  he  said.  "  This  is  only  the  beginning  ;  hard 
ly  is  it  even  the  beginning." 

Fastening  his  pony  to  a  bush,  he  reconnoitred  the 
place,  disappearing  from  sight  the  moment  he  entered 
the  chaparral  in  any  direction.  Eeturning  at  last, 
with  a  grave  face,  he  said,  "  Will  Majella  let  me 
leave  her  here  for  a  little  time  ?  There  is  a  way,  but 
I  can  find  it  only  on  foot.  I  will  not  be  gone  long. 
I  know  it  is  near." 

Tears  came  into  Eamona's  eyes.  The  only  thing 
she  dreaded  was  the  losing  sight  of  Alessandro.  He 
gazed  at  her  anxiously.  "I  must  go,  Majella,"  he 
said  with  emphasis.  "  We  are  in  danger  here." 

"  Go  !  go  !  Alessandro,"  she  cried.  "  But,  oh,  do  not 
be  long ! " 

As  he  disappeared  in  the  thicket,  the  tough  boughs 
crackling  and  snapping  before  him,  it  seemed  to  Ea 
mona  that  she  was  again  alone  in  the  world.  Capi- 
tan,  too,  bounded  after  Alessandro,  and  did  not  return 
at  her  call.  All  was  still.  Eamona  laid  her  head  on 
Baba's  neck.  The  moments  seemed  hours.  At  last, 
just  as  the  yellow  light  streamed  across  the  sky,  and 
the  crimson  fleeces  turned  in  one  second  to  gold,  she 


268  RAMONA. 

heard  Alessandro's  steps,  the  next  moment  saw  his 
face.     It  was  aglow  with  joy. 

"  I  have  found  the  trail !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  but  we 
must  climb  up  again  out  of  this ;  and  it  is  too  light. 
I  like  it  not." 

With  fear  and  trembling  they  urged  their  horses 
up  and  out  into  the  open  again,  and  galloped  a  half- 
mile  farther  west,  still  keeping  as  close  to  the  chap 
arral  thicket  as  possible.  Here  Alessandro,  who 
led  the  way,  suddenly  turned  into  the  very  thicket 
itself;  no  apparent  opening;  but  the  boughs  parted 
and  closed,  and  his  head  appeared  above  them ;  still 
the  little  pony  was  trotting  bravely  along.  Baba 
snorted  with  displeasure  as  he  plunged  into  the  same 
bristling  pathway.  The  thick-set,  thorny  branches 
smote  Ramona's  cheeks.  What  was  worse,  they 
caught  the  nets  swung  on  Baba's  sides ;  presently 
these  were  held  fast,  and  Baba  began  to  rear  and 
kick.  Here  was  a  real  difficulty.  Alessandro  dis 
mounted,  cut  the  strings,  and  put  both  the  packages 
securely  on  the  back  of  his  own  pony.  "  I  will  walk," 
he  said.  "  It  was  only  a  little  way  longer  I  would  have 
ridden.  I  shall  lead  Baba,  where  it  is  narrow." 

"  Narrow,"  indeed.  It  was  from  sheer  terror,  soon, 
that  Ramona  shut  her  eyes.  A  path,  it  seemed  to 
her  only  a  hand's-breadth  wide,  —  a  stony,  crumbling 
path,  —  on  the  side  of  a  precipice,  down  which  the 
stones  rolled,  and  rolled,  and  rolled,  echoing,  far  out 
of  sight,  as  they  passed  ;  at  each  step  the  beasts  took, 
the  stones  rolled  and  fell.  Only  the  yucca-plants, 
with  their  sharp  bayonet-leaves,  had  made  shift  to 
keep  foothold  on  this  precipice.  Of  tbese  there 
were  thousands  ;  and  their  tall  flower-stalks,  fifteen, 
twenty  feet  high,  set  thick  with  the  shining,  smooth 
seed-cups,  glistened  like  satin  chalices  in  the  sun. 
Below  —  hundreds  of  feet  below  —  lay  the  canon  bot 
tom,  a  solid  bed  of  chaparral,  looking  soft  and  even 


RAMON  A.  269 

as  a  bed  of  moss.  Giant  sycamore-trees  lifted  their 
heads,  at  intervals,  above  this  ;  and  far  out  in  the 
plain  glistened  the  loops  of  the  river,  whose  sources, 
unknown  to  the  world,  seen  of  but  few  human  eyes, 
were  to  be  waters  of  comfort  to  these  fugitives  this 
day. 

Alessandro  was  cheered.  The  trail  was  child's  play 
to  him.  At  the  first  tread  of  Baba's  dainty  steps  on 
the  rolling  stones,  he  saw  that  the  horse  was  as  sure 
footed  as  an  Indian  pony.  In  a  few  short  hours,  now, 
they  would  be  all  at  rest.  He  knew  where,  under 
a  sycamore-clump,  there  was  running  water,  clear  as 
crystal,  and  cold,  —  almost  colder  than  one  could 
drink,  —  and  green  grass  too ;  plenty  for  two  days' 
feed  for  the  horses,  or  even  three ;  and  all  California 
might  be  searched  over  in  vain  for  them,  once  they 
were  down  this  trail.  His  heart  full  of  joy  at  these 
thoughts,  he  turned,  to  see  Eamona  pallid,  her  lips 
parted,  her  eyes  full  of  terror.  He  had  forgotten  that 
her  riding  had  hitherto  been  only  on  the  smooth  ways 
of  the  valley  and  the  plain.  There  she  was  so  fearless, 
that  he  had  had  no  misgiving  about  her  nerves  here ; 
but  she  had  dropped  the  reins,  was  clutching  Baba's 
mane  with  both  hands,  and  sitting  unsteadily  in  her 
saddle.  She  had  been  too  proud  to  cry  out ;  but  she 
was  nearly  beside  herself  with  fright.  Alessandro 
halted  so  suddenly  that  Baba,  whose  nose  was  nearly 
on  his  shoulder,  came  to  so  sharp  a  stop  that  Ka- 
mona  uttered  a  cry.  She  thought  he  had  lost  his 
footing. 

Alessandro  looked  at  her  in  dismay.    To  dismount 

I  on  that  perilous  trail  was  impossible  ;  moreover,  to 

walk  there  would  take  more  nerve  than  to  ride.     Yet 

she  looked  as  if  she  could  not  much  longer  keep  her 

seat. 

"  Carita,"  he  cried,  "  I  was  stupid  not  to  have  told 
you  how  narrow  the  way  is ;  but  it  is  safe.     I  can 


270  RAMONA. 

run  in  it.     I  ran  all  this  way  with  the  ferns  on  my 
back  I  brought  for  you." 

"  Oh,  did  you  ?  "  gasped  Ramona,  diverted,  for  the 
moment,  from  her  contemplation  of  the  abyss,  and 
more  reassured  by  that  change  of  her  thoughts  than 
she  could  have  been  by  anything  else.  "  Did  you  ? 
It  is  frightful,  Alessandro.  I  never  heard  of  such  a 
trail.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  on  a  rope  in  the  air.  If 
I  could  get  down  and  go  on  my  hands  and  knees,  I 
think  I  would  like  it  better.  Could  I  ? " 

"  I  would  not  dare  to  have  you  get  off,  just  here, 
Majella,"  answered  Alessandro,  sorrowfully.  "  It  is 
dreadful  to  me  to  see  you  suffer  so ;  I  will  go  very 
slowly.  Indeed,  it  is  safe ;  we  all  came  up  here,  the 
whole  band,  for  the  sheep-shearing,  —  old  Fernando 
on  his  horse  all  the  way." 

"Really,"  said  Ramona,  taking  comfort  at  each 
word,  "  I  will  try  not  to  be  so  silly.  Is  it  far,  dearest 
Alessandro  ? " 

"  Not  much  more  as  steep  as  this,  dear,  nor  so 
narrow ;  but  it  will  be  an  hour  yet  before  we  stop." 

But  the  worst  was  over  for  Ramona  now,  and  long 
before  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the  precipice  she 
was  ready  to  laugh  at  her  fears  ;  only,  as  she  looked 
back  at  the  zigzag  lines  of  the  path  over  which  she 
had  come,  —  little  more  than  a  brown  thread,  they 
seemed,  flung  along  the  rock,  —  she  shuddered. 

Down  in  the  bottom  of  the  canon  it  was  still  the 
dusky  gloaming  when  they  arrived.  Day  came  late  to 
this  fairy  spot.  Only  at  high  noon  did  the  sun  fairly 
shine  in.  As  Ramona  looked  around  her,  she  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  delight,  which  satisfied  Alessandro. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  when  I  came  here  for  the  ferns,  I 
wished  to  myself  many  times  that  you  could  see 
it.  There  is  not  in  all  this  country  so  beautiful  a 
place.  This  is  our  first  home,  my  Majella,"  he  added, 
in  a  tone  almost  solemn ;  and  throwing  his  arms 


RAMON  A.  271 

around  her,  lie  drew  her  to  his  breast,  with  the  first 
feeling  of  joy  he  had  experienced. 

"  I  wish  we  could  live  here  always,"  cried  Eamona. 

"  Would  Majella  be  content  ? "  said  Alessandro. 

"  Very,"  she  answered. 

He  sighed.  "  There  would  not  be  land  enough,  to 
live  here,"  he  said.  "  If  there  were,  I  too  would  like 
to  stay  here  till  I  died,  Majella,  and  never  see  the 
face  of  a  white  man  again  ! "  Already  the  instinct  of 
the  hunted  and  wounded  animal  to  seek  hiding,  was 
striving  in  Alessandro 's  blood.  "  But  there  would  be 
no  food.  We  could  not  live  here."  Eamona's  ex 
clamation  had  set  Alessandro  to  thinking,  however. 
"  Would  Majella  be  content  to  stay  here  three  days 
now  ? "  he  asked.  "  There  is  grass  enough  for  the 
horses  for  that  time.  We  should  be  very  safe  here ; 
and  I  fear  very  much  we  should  not  be  safe  on  any 
road.  I  think,  Majella,  the  Senora  will  send  men 
after  Baba." 

"  Baba ! "  cried  Eamona,  aghast  at  the  idea.  "  My 
own  horse  !  She  would  not  dare  to  call  it  stealing 
a  horse,  to  take  my  own  Baba ! "  But  even  as  she 
spoke,  her  heart  misgave  her.  The  Seflora  would  dare 
anything ;  would  misrepresent  anything ;  only  too  well 
Eamona  knew  what  the  very  mention  of  the  phrase 
"  horse-stealing"  meant  all  through  the  country.  She 
looked  piteously  at  Alessandro.  He  read  her  thoughts. 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,  Majella,"  he  said.  "  If  she  sent 
men  after  Baba,  there  is  no  knowing  what  they  might 
do.  It  would  not  do  any  good  for  you  to  say  he  was 
yours.  They  would  not  believe  you ;  and  they  might 
take  me  too,  if  the  Senora  had  told  them  to,  and  put 
me  into  Ventura  jail." 

"  She 's  just  wicked  enough  to  do  it! "  cried  Eamona. 
"  Let  us  not  stir  out  of  this  spot,  Alessaudro,  —  not  for 
a  week !  Could  n't  we  stay  a  week  ?  By  that  time  she 
would  have  given  over  looking  for  us." 


272  RAMON  A. 

"  I  am  afraid  not  a  week.  There  is  not  feed  for 
the  horses ;  and  I  do  not  know  what  we  could  eat.  I 
have  my  gun,  but  there  is  not  much,  now,  to  kill." 

"  But  I  have  brought  meat  and  bread,  Alessandro," 
said  Eamona,  earnestly,  "  and  we  could  eat  very  little 
each  day,  and  make  it  last ! "  She  was  like  a  child, 
in  her  simplicity  and  eagerness.  Every  other  thought 
was  for  the  time  being  driven  out  of  her  mind  by  the 
terror  of  being  pursued.  Pursuit  of  her,  she  knew, 
would  not  be  in  the  Senora's  plan ;  but  the  reclaim 
ing  of  Baba  and  Capitan,  that  was  another  thing. 
The  more  Eamona  thought  of  it,  the  more  it  seemed 
to  her  a  form  of  vengeance  which  would  be  Likely  to 
commend  itself  to  the  Senora's  mind.  Felipe  might 
possibly  prevent  it.  It  was  he  who  had  given  Baba 
to  her.  He  would  feel  that  it  would  be  shameful  to 
recall  or  deny  the  gift.  Only  in  Felipe  lay  Eamona's 
hope. 

If  she  had  thought  to  tell  Alessandro  that  in  her 
farewell  note  to  Felipe  she  had  said  that  she  sup 
posed  they  were  going  to  Father  Salvierderra,  it 
would  have  saved  both  her  and  Alessandro  much 
disquietude.  Alessandro  would  have  known  that 
men  pursuing  them,  on  that  supposition,  would  have 
gone  straight  down  the  river  road  to  the  sea,  and 
struck  northward  along  the  coast.  But  it  did  not 
occur  to  Earnona  to  mention  this ;  in  fact,  she  hardly 
recollected  it  after  the  first  day.  Alessandro  had  ex 
plained  to  her  his  plan,  which  was  to  go  by  way  of 
Temecula  to  San  Diego,  to  be  married  there  by  Father 
Gaspara,  the  priest  of  that  parish,  and  then  go  to  the 
village  or  pueblo  of  San  Pasquale,  about  fifteen  miles 
northwest  of  San  Diego.  A  cousin  of  Alessandro's 
was  the  head  man  of  this  village,  and  had  many 
times  begged  him  to  corne  there  to  live ;  but  Ales 
sandro  had  steadily  refused,  believing  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  remain  at  Temecula  with  his  father.  San 


RAMONA.  273 

Pasquale  was  a  regularly  established  pueblo,  founded 
by  a  number  of  the  Indian  neophytes  of  the  San 
Luis  Key  Mission  at  the  time  of  the  breaking  up 
of  that  Mission.  It  was  established  by  a  decree  of 
the  Governor  of  California,  and  the  lands  of  the  San 
Pasquale  Valley  given  to  it.  A  paper  recording  this 
establishment  and  gift,  signed  by  the  Governor's  own 
hand,  was  given  to  the  Indian  who  was  the  first 
Alcalde  of  the  pueblo.  He  was  Chief  Pablo's  brother. 
At  his  death  the  authority  passed  into  the  hands  of 
his  son,  Ysidro,  the  cousin  of  whom  Alessandro  had 
spoken. 

"  Ysidro  has  that  paper  still,"  Alessandro  said, 
"  and  he  thinks  it  will  keep  them  their  village.  Per 
haps  it  will ;  but  the  Americans  are  beginning  to 
come  in  at  the  head  of  the  valley,  and  I  do  not  be 
lieve,  Majella,  there  is  any  safety  anywhere.  Still, 
for  a  few  years  we  can  perhaps  stay  there.  There 
are  nearly  two  hundred  Indians  in  the  valley ;  it  is 
much  better  than  Temecula,  and  Ysidro's  people 
are  much  better  off  than  ours  were.  They  have 
splendid  herds  of  cattle  and  horses,  and  large  wheat- 
fields.  Ysidro's  house  stands  under  a  great  fig-tree ; 
they  say  it  is  the  largest  fig-tree  in  the  country." 

"  But,  Alessandro,"  cried  Eamona,  "  why  do  you 
think  it  is  not  safe  there,  if  Ysidro  has  the  paper  ? 
1  thought  a  paper  made  it  all  right." 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Alessandro.  "  Perhaps  it 
may  be ;  but  I  have  got  the  feeling  now  that  nothing 
will  be  of  any  use  against  the  Americans.  I  don't 
believe  they  will  mind  the  paper." 

"  They  did  n't  mind  the  papers  the  Senora  had  for 
all  that  land  of  hers  they  took  away,"  said  Eamona, 
thoughtfully.  "But  Felipe  said  that  was  because  Pio 
Pico  was  a  bad  man,  and  gave  away  lands  he  had 
no  right  to  give  away." 

"  That 's  just  it,"  said  Alessandro.  "  Can't  they  say 
18 


274  RAMON  A. 

that  same  thing  about  any  governor,  especially  if  he 
has  given  lands  to  us  ?  If  the  Senora  could  n't  keep 
hers,  with  Senor  Felipe  to  help  her,  and  he  knows  all 
about  the  law,  and  can  speak  the  American  language, 
what  chance  is  there  for  us  ?  We  can't  take  care  of 
ourselves  any  better  than  the  wild  beasts  can,  my 
Majella.  Oh,  why,  why  did  you  come  with  me  ?  Why 
did  I  let  you  ? "  ' 

After  such  words  as  these,  Alessandro  would  throw 
himself  on  the  ground,  and  for  a  few  moments  not 
even  Eamona's  voice  would  make  him  look  up.  It 
was  strange  that  the  gentle  girl,  unused  to  hardship, 
or  to  the  thought  of  danger,  did  not  find  herself  terri 
fied  by  these  fierce  glooms  and  apprehensions  of  her 
lover.  But  she  was  appalled  by  nothing.  Saved 
from  the  only  thing  in  life  she  had  dreaded,  sure  that 
Alessandro  lived,  and  that  he  would  not  leave  her, 
she  had  no  fears.  This  was  partly  from  her  inex 
perience,  from  her  utter  inability  to  conceive  of  the 
things  Alessandro's  imagination  painted  in  colors 
only  too  true;  but  it  was  also  largely  due  to  the  ina 
lienable  loyalty  and  quenchless  courage  of  her  soul, — 
qualities  in  her  nature  never  yet  tested ;  qualities  of 
which  she  hardly  knew  so  much  as  the  name,  but 
which  were  to  bear  her  steadfast  and  buoyant  through 
many  sorrowful  years. 

Before  nightfall  of  this  their  first  day  in  the  wilder 
ness,  Alessandro  had  prepared  for  Eamona  a  bed  of 
finely  broken  twigs  of  the  manzanita  and  ceanothus, 
both  of  which  grew  in  abundance  all  through  the  canon. 
Above  these  he  spread  layers  of  glossy  ferns,  five  and 
six  feet  long ;  when  it  was  done,  it  was  a  couch  no 
queen  need  have  scorned.  As  Ilamoua  seated  herself 
on  it,  she  exclaimed :  "  Now  I  shall  see  how  it  feels 
to  lie  and  look  up  at  the  stars  at  night !  Do  you 
recollect,  Alessandro,  the  night  you  put  Felipe's  bed 
on  the  veruuda,  when  37ou  told  me  how  beautiful  it 


RAMONA.  275 

was  to  lie  at  night  out  of  doors  and  look  np  at  the 
stars  ? " 

Indeed  did  Alessandro  remember  that  night,  —  the 
first  moment  he  had  ever  dared  to  dream  of  the  Seno- 
rita  Eamona  as  his  own.  "  Yes,  I  remember  it,  my 
Majella,"  he  answered  slowly;  and  in  a  moment  more 
added,  "  That  was  the  day  Juan  Can  had  told  me 
that  your  mother  was  of  my  people ;  and  that  was  the 
night  I  first  dared  in  my  thoughts  to  say  that  perhaps 
you  might  some  day  love  me." 

"  But  where  are  you  going  to  sleep,  Alessandro  ? " 
said  Eamona,  seeing  that  he  spread  no  more  boughs. 
"  You  have  made  yourself  no  bed." 

Alessandro  laughed.  "  I  need  no  bed,"  he  said. 
"  We  think  it  is  on  our  mother's  lap  we  lie,  when  we 
lie  on  the  ground.  It  is  not  hard,  Majella.  It  is  soft, 
and  rests  one  better  than  beds.  But  to-night  I  shall 
not  sleep.  I  will  sit  by  this  tree  and  watch." 

"  Why,  what  are  you  afraid  of  ?  "  asked  Eamona. 

"  It  may  grow  so  cold  that  I  must  make  a  fire  for 
Majella,"  he  answered.  "  It  sometimes  gets  very 
cold  before  morning  in  these  canons  ;  so  I  shall  feel 
safer  to  watch  to-night." 

This  he  said,  not  to  alarm  Eamona.  His  real  rea 
son  for  watching  was,  that  he  had  seen  on  the  edge  of 
the  stream  tracks  which  gave  him  uneasiness.  They 
were  faint  and  evidently  old;  but  they  looked  like 
the  tracks  of  a  mountain  lion.  As  soon  as  it  was 
dark  enough  to  prevent  the  curl  of  smoke  from  being- 
seen  from  below,  he  would  light  a  fire,  and  keep  it 
blazing  all  night,  and  watch,  gun  in  hand,  lest  the 
beast  return. 

"  But  you  will  be  dead,  Alessandro,  if  you  do  not 
sleep.  You  are  not  strong,"  said  Eamona,  anxiously. 

"  I  am  strong  now,  Majella,"  answered  Alessandro. 
And  indeed  he  did  already  look  like  a  renewed  man, 
spite  of  all  his  fatigue  and  anxiety.  "  I  am  no  longer 


276  RAMONA. 

weak ;  and  to-morrow  I  will  sleep,  and  you  shall 
watch." 

"  Will  you  lie  on  the  fern-bed  then  ? "  asked  Ea~ 
mona,  gleefully. 

"  I  would  like  the  ground  better,"  said  honest 
Alessandro. 

Eamona  looked  disappointed.  "  That  is  very 
strange,"  she  said.  "  It  is  not  so  soft,  this  bed  of 
boughs,  that  one  need  fear  to  be  made  tender  by 
lying  on  it,"  she  continued,  throwing  herself  down; 
"  but  oh,  how  sweet,  how  sweet  it  smells ! " 

"  Yes,  there  is  spice- wood  in  it,"  he  answered.  "  I 
put  it  in  at  the  head,  for  Majella's  pillow." 

Eamona  was  very  tired,  and  she  was  happy.  All 
night  long  she  slept  like  a  child.  She  did  not  hear 
Alessaudro's  steps.  She  did  not  hear  the  crackling 
of  the  fire  he  lighted.  She  did  not  hear  the  barking 
of  Capitan,  who  more  than  once,  spite  of  all  Ales 
sandro  could  do  to  quiet  him,  made  the  cafion  echo 
with  sharp,  quick  notes  of  warning,  as  he  heard 
the  stealthy  steps  of  wild  creatures  in  the  chap 
arral.  Hour  after  hour  she  slept  on.  And  hour 
after  hour  Alessandro  sat  leaning  against  a  huge 
sycamore-trunk,  and  watched  her.  As  the  fitful  fire 
light  played  over  her  face,  he  thought  he  had  never 
seen  it  so  beautiful.  Its  expression  of  calm  repose 
insensibly  soothed  and  strengthened  him.  She  looked 
like  a  saint,  he  thought ;  perhaps  it  was  as  a  saint 
of  help  and  guidance,  the  Virgin  was  sending  her  to 
him  and  his  people.  The  darkness  deepened,  became 
blackness ;  only  the  red  gleams  from  the  fire  broke 
it,  in  swaying  rifts,  as  the  wind  makes  rifts  in  black 
storm-clouds  in  the  heavens.  With  the  darkness,  the 
stillness  also  deepened.  Nothing  broke  that,  except 
an  occasional  motion  of  Baba  or  the  pony,  or  an  alert 
signal  from  Capitan ;  then  all  seemed  stiller  than 
ever.  Alessandro  felt  as  if  God  himself  were  in  the 


RAMONA.  277 

canon.  Countless  times  in  his  life  before  he  had 
lain  in  lonely  places  under  the  sky  and  watched  the 
night  through,  but  he  never  felt  like  this.  It  was 
ecstasy,  and  yet  it  was  pain.  What  was  to  come  on 
the  morrow,  and  the  next  morrow,  and  the  next,  and 
the  next,  all  through  the  coming  years  ?  What  was 
to  come  to  this  beloved  and  loving  woman  who  lay 
there  sleeping,  so  confident,  so  trustful,  guarded  only 
by  him,  —  by  him,  Alessandro,  the  exile,  fugitive, 
homeless  man  ? 

Before  the  dawn,  wood-doves  began  their  calling. 
The  canon  was  full  of  them,  no  two  notes  quite  alike, 
it  seemed  to  Alessandro's  sharpened  sense  ;  pair  after 
pair,  he  fancied  that  he  recognized,  speaking  and  re 
plying,  as  did  the  pair  whose  voices  had  so  comforted 
him  the  night  he  watched  under  the  geranium  hedge 
by  the  Moreno  chapel,  —  "  Love  ? "  "  Here  ! "  "  Love  ? " 
"  Here  !  "  They  comforted  him  still  more  now. 
"  They  too  have  only  each  other,"  he  thought,  as  he 
bent  his  eyes  lovingly  on  Ramona's  face. 

It  was  dawn,  and  past  dawn,  on  the  plains,  before 
it  was  yet  morning  twilight  in  the  canon ;  but  the 
birds  in  the  upper  boughs  of  the  sycamores  caught 
the  tokens  of  the  coming  day,  and  began  to  twitter 
in  the  dusk.  Their  notes  fell  on  Eamona's  sleeping 
ear,  like  the  familiar  sound  of  the  linnets  in  the 
veranda-thatch  at  home,  and  waked  her  instantly. 
Sitting  up  bewildered,  and  looking  about  her,  she 
exclaimed,  "  Oh,  is  it  morning  already,  and  so  dark  ? 
The  birds  can  see  more  sky  than  we !  Sing,  Alessan 
dro  "  and  she  began  the  hymn :  — 

" '  Singers  at  dawn 

From  the  heavens  above 
People  all  regions  ; 
Gladly  we  too  sing,'" 

Never  went  up  truer  invocation,  from  sweeter  spot 


278  RAM  ON  A. 

"  Sing  not  so  loud,  my  Majel,"  whispered  Alessan- 
dro,  as  her  voice  went  carolling  like  a  lark's  iu  the 
pure  ether.  "There  might  be  hunters  near  who 
would  hear; "  and  he  joined  in  with  low  and  muffled 
tones. 

As  she  dropped  her  voice  at  this  caution,  it  seemed 
even  sweeter  than  before  :  — 

" '  Come,  O  sinners, 

Come,  and  we  will  sing 
Tender  hymns 
To  our  refuge.' " 

"  Ah,  Majella,  there  is  no  sinner  here,  except  me  !" 
said  Alessandro.  "My  Majella  is  like  one  of  the 
Virgin's  own  saints."  And  indeed  he  might  have 
been  forgiven  the  thought,  as  he  gazed  at  Ramona, 
sitting  there  in  the  shimmering  light,  her  face  thrown 
out  into  relief  by  the  gray  wall  of  fern-draped  rock 
behind  her ;  her  splendid  hair,  unbound,  falling  in 
tangled  masses  to  her  waist ;  her  cheeks  flushed,  her 
face  radiant  with  devout  and  fervent  supplication, 
her  eyes  uplifted  to  the  narrow  belt  of  sky  overhead, 
where  filmy  vapors  were  turning  to  gold,  touched  by 
a  sun  she  could  not  see. 

"  Hush,  my  love,"  she  breathed  rather  than  said. 
"  That  would  be  a  sin,  if  you  really  thought  it. 

'  0  beautiful  Queen, 
Princess  of  Heaven,' " 

she  continued,  repeating  the  first  lines  of  the  song; 
and  then,  sinking  on  her  knees,  reached  out  one  hand 
for  Alessandro's,  and  glided,  almost  without  a  break 
in  the  melodious  sound,  into  a  low  recitative  of  the 
morning  prayers.  Her  rosary  was  of  fine-chased  gold 
beads,  with  an  ivory  crucifix ;  a  rare  and  precious 
relic  of  the  Missions'  olden  times.  It  had  belonged 
to  Father  Peyri  himself,  was  given  by  him  to  Fa 
ther  Salvierderra,  and  by  Father  Salvierderra  to  the 


RAMON  A.  279 

"blessed  child,"  Eamona,~at  her  confirmation.  A 
warmer  token  of  his  love  and  trust  he  could  not 
have  bestowed  upon  her,  and  to  Eamona's  religious 
and  affectionate  heart  it  had  always  seemed  a  bond 
and  an  assurance,  not  only  of  Father  Salvierderra's 
love,  but  of  the  lov.e  and  protection  of  the  now  sainted 
Peyri. 

As  she  pronounced  the  last  words  of  her  trusting 
prayer,  and  slipped  the  last  of  the  golden  beads  along 
on  its  string,  a  thread  of  sunlight  shot  into  the  canon 
through  a  deep  narrow  gap  in  its  rocky  eastern 
crest,  —  shot  in  for  a  second,  no  more ;  fell  aslant  the 
rosary,  lighted  it ;  by  a  flash  as  if  of  fire,  across  the 
fine-cut  facets  of  the  beads,  on  Eamona's  hands,  and 
on  the  white  face  of  the  ivory  Christ.  Only  a  flash, 
and  it  was  gone  !  To  both  Eamona  and  Alessanclro  it 
came  like  an  omen, —  like  a  message  straight  from  the 
Virgin.  Could  she  choose  better  messenger, — she, 
the  compassionate  one,  the  loving  woman  in  heaven ; 
mother  of  the  Christ  to  whom  they  prayed,  through 
her,  —  mother,  for  whose  sake  He  would  regard  their 
least  cry,  —  could  she  choose  better  messenger,  or 
swifter,  than  the  sunbeam,  to  say  that  she  heard  and 
would  help  them  in  these  sore  straits  ? 

Perhaps  there  were  not,  in  the  whole  great  world, 
at  that  moment  to  be  found,  two  souls  who  were  ex 
periencing  so  vivid  a  happiness  as  thrilled  the  veins 
of  these  two  friendless  ones,  on  their  knees,  alone  in 
the  wilderness,  gazing  half  awe-stricken  at  the  shin 
ing  rosaiy. 


XVII.      . 

TDEFOEE  the  end  of  their  second  day  in  the  canon, 
JD  the  place  had  become  to  Eamona  so  like  a 
friendly  home,  that  she  dreaded  to  leave  its  shelter. 
Nothing  is  stronger  proof  of  the  original  intent  of 
Nature  to  do  more  for  man  than  civilization  in  its 
arrogance  will  long  permit  her  to  do,  than  the  quick 
and  sure  way  in  which  she  reclaims  his  affection, 
when  by  weariness,  idle  chance,  or  disaster,  he  is  re 
turned,  for  an  interval,  to  her  arms.  How  soon  he 
rejects  the  miserable  subterfuges  of  what  he  had 
called  habits ;  sheds  the  still  more  miserable  pre 
tences  of  superiority,  makeshifts  of  adornment,  and 
chains  of  custom  !  "  Whom  the  gods  love,  die  young," 
has  been  too  long  carelessly  said.  It  is  not  true,  in 
the  sense  in  which  men  use  the  words.  Whom  the 
gods  love,  dwell  with  nature ;  if  they  are  ever  lured 
away,  return  to  her  before  they  are  old.  Then,  how 
ever  long  they  live  before  they  die,  they  die  young. 
Whom  the  gods  love,  live  young  —  forever. 

With  the  insight  of  a  lover  added  to  the  instinct  of 
the  Indian,  Alessandro  saw  how,  hour  by  hour,  there 
grew  in  Ramona's  eyes  the  wonted  look  of  one  at 
home  ;  how  she  watched  the  shadows,  and  knew  what 
they  meant.  I 

"  If  we  lived  here,  the  walls  would  be  sun-dials  for 
us,  would  they  not  ? "  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  pleas 
ure.  "  I  see  that  yon  tall  yucca  has  gone  in  shadow 
sooner  than  it  did  yesterday." 

And,  "  What  millions  of  things  grow  here,  Ales 
sandro  !  I  did  not  know  there  were  so  many.  Have 


RAMONA.  281 

they  all  names  ?  The  nuns  taught  us  some  names  ; 
but  they  were  hard,  and  I  forgot  them.  We  might 
name  them  for  ourselves,  if  we  lived  here.  They 
would  be  our  relations." 

And,  "  For  one  year  I  should  lie  and  look  up  at 
the  sky,  my  Alessandro,  and  do  nothing  else.  It 
hardly  seems  as  if  it  would  be  a  sin  to  do  nothing 
for  a  year,  if  one  gazed  steadily  at  the  sky  all  the 
while." 

And,  "  Now  I  know  what  it  is  I  have  always  seen 
in  your  face,  Alessandro.  It  is  the  look  from  the 
sky.  One  must  be  always  serious  and  not  unhappy, 
but  never  too  glad,  I  think,  when  he  lives  with  noth 
ing  between  him  and  the  sky,  and  the  saints  can  see 
him  every  minute." 

And,  "  I  cannot  believe  that  it  is  but  two  days  I 
have  lived  in  the  air,  Alessandro.  This  seems  to  me 
the  first  home  I  have  ever  had.  Is  it  because  I  am 
Indian,  Alessandro,  that  it  gives  me  such  joy  ?  " 

It  was  strange  how  many  more  words  Eamona 
spoke  than  Alessandro,  yet  how  full  she  felt  their 
intercourse  to  be.  His  silence  was  more  than  silent ; 
it  was  taciturn.  Yet  she  always  felt  herself  answered. 
A  monosyllable  of  Alessandro's,  nay,  a  look,  told 
what  other  men  took  long  sentences  to  say,  and  said 
less  eloquently. 

After  long  thinking  over  this,  she  exclaimed,  "  You 
speak  as  the  trees  speak,  and  like  the  rock  yonder, 
and  the  flowers,  without  saying  anything!" 

This  delighted  Alessandro's  very  heart.  "  And 
you,  Majella,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  when  you  say  that, 
you  speak  in  ths  language  of  our  people ;  you  are  as 
we  are." 

And  Eamona,  in  her  turn,  was  made  happy  by 
his  words, —  happier  than  she  would  have  been  made 
by  any  other  praise  or  fondness. 

Alessandro  found  himself  regaining  all  his  strength 


282  RAMONA. 

as  if  by  a  miracle.  The  gaunt  look  had  left  his 
face.  Almost  it  seemed  that  its  contour  was  already 
fuller.  There  is  a  beautiful  old  Gaelic  legend  of  a 
Fairy  who  wooed  a  Prince,  came  again  and  again  to 
him,  and,  herself  invisible  to  all  but  the  Prince,  hov 
ered  in  the  air,  sang  loving  songs  to  draw  him  away 
from  the  crowd  of  his  indignant  nobles,  who  heard 
her  voice  and  summoned  magicians  to  rout  her  by  all 
spells  and  enchantments  at  their  command.  Finally 
they  succeeded  in  silencing  her  and  driving  her  off; 
but  as  she  vanished  from  the  Prince's  sight  she  threw 
him  an  apple,  —  a  magic  golden  apple.  Once  having 
tasted  of  this,  he  refused  all  other  food.  Day  after 
day,  night  after  night,  he  ate  only  this  golden  apple  ; 
and  yet,  morning  after  morning,  evening  after  evening, 
there  lay  the  golden  fruit,  still  whole  and  shining,  as 
if  he  had  not  fed  upon  it ;  and  when  the  Fairy  came 
the  next  time,  the  Prince  leaped  into  her  magic  boat, 
sailed  away  with  her,  and  never  was  seen  in  his  king 
dom  again.  It  was  only  an  allegory,  this  legend,  — 
a  beautiful  allegory,  and  true,  —  of  love  and  lovers. 
The  food  on  which  Alessandro  was,  hour  by  hour, 
now  growing  strong,  was  as  magic  and  invisible  as 
Prince  Connla's  apple,  and  just  as  strength-giving. 

"  My  Alessandro,  how  is  it  you  look  so  well,  so 
soon  ? "  said  Ramona,  studying  his  countenance  with 
loving  care.  "  I  thought  that  night  you  would  die. 
Now  you  look  nearly  strong  as  ever  ;  your  eyes  shine, 
and  your  hand  is  not  hot  !  It  is  the  blessed  air ;  it 
has  cured  you,  as  it  cured  Felipe  of  the  fever." 

"  If  the  air  could  keep  me  well,  I  had  not  been  ill, 
Majella,"  replied  Alessandro.  "  I  had  been  under  no 
roof  except  the  tule-shed,  till  I  saw  you.  It  is  not 
the  air ; "  and  he  looked  at  her  with  a  gaze  that  said 
the  rest. 

At  twilight  of  the  third  day,  when  Ramona  saw 
Alessandro  leading  up  Baba,  saddled  ready  for  the 


RAMONA.  283 

journey,  the  tears  filled  her  eyes.  At  noon  Alessan- 
dro  had  said  to  her  :  "  To-night,  Majella,  we  must  go. 
There  is  not  grass  enough  for  another  day.  We  must 
go  while  the  horses  are  strong.  I  dare  not  lead  them 
any  farther  down  the  canon  to  graze,  for  there  is  a 
ranch  only  a  few  miles  lower.  To-day  I  found  one 
of  the  man's  cows  feeding  near  Baba." 

Ramona  made  no  remonstrance.  The  necessity 
was  too  evident ;  but  the  look  on  her  face  gave  Ales- 
sandro  a  new  pang.  He,  too,  felt  as  if  exiled  afresh 
in  leaving  the  spot.  And  now,  as  he  led  the  horses 
slowly  up,  and  saw  Ramona  sitting  in  a  dejected  atti 
tude  beside  the  nets,  in  which  were  again  carefully 
packed  their  small  stores,  his  heart  ached  anew. 
Again  the  sense  of  his  homeless  and  destitute  con 
dition  settled  like  an  unbearable  burden  on  his  soul. 
Whither  and  to  what  was  he  leading  his  Majella  ? 

But  once  in  the  saddle,  Ramona  recovered  cheer 
fulness.  Baba  was  in  such  gay  heart,  she  could  not 
be  wholly  sad.  The  horse  seemed  fairly  rollicking 
with  satisfaction  at  being  once  more  on  the  move. 
Capitan,  too,  was  gay.  He  had  found  the  canon  dull, 
spite  of  its  refreshing  shade  and  cool  water.  He 
longed  for  sheep.  He  did  not  understand  this  inac 
tivity.  The  puzzled  look  on  his  face  had  made  Ra 
mona  laugh  more  than  once,  as  he  would  come  and 
stand  before  her,  wagging  his  tail  and  fixing  his  eyes 
intently  on  her  face,  as  if  he  said  in  so  many  words, 
"  What  in  the  world  are  you  about  in  this  canon,  and 
do  not  you  ever  intend  to  return  home  ?  Or  if  you 
will  stay  here,  why  riot  keep  sheep  ?  Do  you  not 
see  that  I  have  nothing  to  do  ? " 

"  We  must  ride  all  night,  Majella,"  said  Alessan- 
dro,  "  and  lose  no  time.  It  is  a  long  way  to  the 
place  where  we  shall  stay  to-morrow." 

"  Is  it  a  canon  ? "  asked  Ramona,  hopefully. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  not  a  canon ;    but   there  are 


284  RAMONA. 

beautiful  oak-trees.  It  is  where  we  get  our  acorns 
for  the  winter.  It  is  on  the  top  of  a  high  hill." 

"  Will  it  be  safe  there  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  think  so,"  he  replied  ;  "  though  not  so  safe 
as  here.  There  is  no  such  place  as  this  in  all  the 
country." 

"  And  then  where  shall  we  go  next  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  is  very  near  Ternecula,"  he  said.  "  We  must 
go  into  Temecula,  dear  Majella.  I  must  go  to  Mr. 
Hartsel's.  He  is  friendly.  He  will  give  me  money 
for  my  father's  violin.  If  it  were  not  for  that,  I 
would  never  go  near  the  place  again." 

"  I  would  like  to  see  it,  Alessandro,"  she  said 
gently. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Majella  ! "  he  cried  ;  "  you  would  not. 
It  is  terrible ;  the  houses  all  unroofed,  —  all  but 
my  father's  and  Jose's.  They  were  shingled  roofs  ; 
they  will  be  just  the  same ;  all  the  rest  are  only 
walls.  Antonio's  mother  threw  hers  down ;  I  don't 
know  how  the  old  woman  ever  had  the  strength  ; 
they  said  she  was  like  a  fury.  She  said  nobody 
should  ever  live  in  those  walls  again ;  and  she  took 
a  pole,  and  made  a  great  hole  in  one  side,  and  then 
she  ran  Antonio's  wagon  against  it  with  all  her 
might,  till  it  fell  in.  No,  Majella.  It  will  be 
dreadful" 

"  Would  n't  you  like  to  go  into  the  graveyard 
again,  Alessandro?"  she  said  timidly. 

"  The  saints  forbid  ! "  he  said  solemnly.  "  I  think 
it  would  make  me  a  murderer  to  stand  in  that  grave 
yard  !  If  I  had  not  you,  my  Majel,  I  should  kill 
some  white  man  when  I  came  out.  Oh,  do  not  speak 
of  it !  "  he  added,  after  a  moment's  silence  ;  "  it  takes 
the  strength  all  out  of  my  blood  again,  Majella.  It 
feels  as  if  I  should  die  ! " 

And  the  word  "  Temecula  "  was  not  mentioned  be 
tween  them  again  until  dusk  the  next  day,  when,  as 


RAMON  A.  285 

they  were  riding  slowly  along  between  low,  wooded 
hills,  tliey  suddenly  came  to  an  opening,  a  green, 
marshy  place,  with  a  little  thread  of  trickling  water, 
at  which  their  horses  stopped,  and  drank  thirstily ; 
and  Eamona,  looking  ahead,  saw  lights  twinkling  in 
the  distance.  "  Lights,  Alessandro,  lights  ! "  she  ex 
claimed,  pointing  to  them. 

"Yes,  Majella,"  he  replied,  "  it  is  Temecula  ;"  and 
springing  off  his  pony  he  came  to  her  side,  and 
putting  both  his  hands  on  hers,  said :  "  I  have  been 
thinking,  for  a  long  way  back,  Carita,  what  is  to  be 
done  here.  I  do  riot  know.  What  does  Majella 
think  will  be  wise  ?  If  men  have  been  sent  out  to 
pursue  us,  they  may  be  at  Hartsel's.  His  store  is 
the  place  where  everybody  stops,  everybody  goes.  I 
dare  not  have  you  go  there,  Majella;  yet  I  must 
go.  The  only  way  I  can  get  any  money  is  from 
Mr.  Hartsel." 

"  1  must  wait  somewhere  while  you  go  ! "  said 
Ramona,  her  heart  beating  as  she  gazed  ahead  into 
the  blackness  of  the  great  plain.  It  looked  vast  as 
the  sea.  "  That  is  the  only  safe  thing,  Alessandro." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  he  said ;  "  but,  oh,  I  am  afraid 
for  you  ;  and  will  not  you  be  afraid  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  afraid.  But  it  is  not 
so  dangerous  as  the  other." 

"  If  anything  were  to  happen  to  me,  and  I  could 
not  come  back  to  you,  Majella,  if  you  give  Baba 
his  reins  he  will  take  you  safe  home,  —  he  and 
Capitan." 

Kamona  shrieked  aloud.  She  had  not  thought  of 
this  possibility.  Alessandro  had  thought  of  every 
thing.  "  What  could  happen  ? "  she  cried. 

"  I  mean  if  the  men  were  there,  and  if  they  took 
me  for  stealing  the  horse,"  he  said. 

"  But  yon  would  not  have  the  horse  with  you,"  she 
said.  "  How  could  they  take  you  ? " 


286  RAMONA. 

"  That  might  n't  make  any  difference,"  replied 
Alessandro.  "  They  might  take  me,  to  make  me  tell 
where  the  horse  was." 

"  Oh,  Alessandro,"  sobbed  Kamona,,  "  what  shall 
we  do ! "  Then  in  another  second,  gathering  her 
courage,  she  exclaimed,  "  Alessandro,  I  know  what  I 
will  do.  I  will  stay  in  the  graveyard.  No  one  will 
come  there.  Shall  I  not  be  safest  there  ? " 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  would  my  Majel  stay  there  ? "  ex 
claimed  Alessandro. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  is  not  the  dead  that 
wrill  harm  us.  They  would  all  help  us  if  they  could. 
I  have  no  fear.  I  will  wait  there  while  you  go  ;  and 
if  you  do  not  come  in  an  hour,  I  will  come  to  Mr. 
Hartsel's  after  you.  If  there  are  men  of  the  Seiiora's 
there,  they  will  know  me ;  they  will  not  dare  to 
touch  me.  They  will  know  that  Felipe  would  punish 
them.  I  will  not  be  afraid.  And  if  they  are  ordered 
to  take  Baba,  they  can  have  him ;  we  can  walk  when 
the  pony  is  tired." 

Her  confidence  was  contagious.  "  My  wood-dove  has 
in  her  breast  the  heart  of  the  lion,"  said  Alessandro, 
fondly.  "  We  will  do  as  she  says.  She  is  wise  ; " 
and  he  turned  their  horses'  heads  in  the  direction  of 
the  graveyard.  It  was  surrounded  by  a  low  adobe 
wall,  with  one  small  gate  of  wooden  paling.  As 
they  reached  it,  Alessandro  exclaimed,  "  The  thieves 
have  taken  the  gate  !  " 

"  What  could  they  have  wanted  with  that  ?  "  said 
Kamona. 

"  To  burn,"  he  said  doggedly.  "  It  was  wood  ;  but 
it  was  very  little.  They  might  have  left  the  graves 
safe  from  wild  beasts  and  cattle  ! " 

As  they  entered  the  enclosure,  a  dark  figure  rose 
from  one  of  the  graves.  Eamona  started. 

"  Fear  nothing,"  whispered  Alessandro.  "  It  must 
be  one  of  our  people.  I  am  glad ;  now  you  will  not 


RAMONA.  287 

be  alone.  It  is  Carmena,  I  am  sure.  That  was  the 
corner  where  they  buried  Jose.  I  will  speak  to  her ;  " 
and  leaving  Eamona  at  the  gate,  he  went  slowly 
on,  saying  in  a  low  voice,  in  the  Luiseno  language, 
1 "  Carmena,  is  that  you  ?  Have  no  fear.  It  is  I, 
Alessandro !" 

It  was  Carmena.  The  poor  creature,  nearly  crazed 
with  grief,  was  spending  her  days  by  her  baby's  grave 
in  Pachanga,  and  her  nights  by  her  husband's  in 
Teniecula.  She  dared  not  come  to  Temecula  by  day, 
for  the  Americans  were  there,  and  she  feared  them. 
Alter  a  short  talk  with  her,  Alessaiidro  returned,  lead 
ing  her  along.  Bringing  her  to  Eamona's  side,  he  laid 
her  feverish  hand  in  Eamona's,  and  said :  "  Majella,  I 
have  told  her  all.  She  cannot  speak  a  word  of  Span 
ish,  but  she  is  very  glad,  she  says,  that  you  have 
come  with  me,  and  she  will  stay  close  by  your  side 
till  I  come  back." 

Eamona's  tender  heart  ached  with  desire  to  com 
fort  the  girl ;  but  all  she  could  do  was  to  press  her 
hand  in  silence.  Even  in  the  darkness  she  could 
see  the  hollow,  mournful  eyes  and  the  wasted  cheek. 
Words  are  less  needful  to  sorrow  than  to  joy.  Car 
mena  felt  in  every  fibre  how  Eamoua  was  pitying 
her.  Presently  she  made  a  gentle  motion,  as  if  to 
draw  her  from  the  saddle.  Eamona  bent  down  and 
looked  inquiringly  into  her  face.  Again  she  drew 
her  gently  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  pointed 
to  the  corner  from  which  she  had  come.  Eamona 
understood.  "  She  wants  to  show  me  her  husband's 
grave,"  she  thought.  "  She  does  not  like  to  be  away 
from  it.  I  will  go  with  her." 

Dismounting,  and  taking  Baba's  bridle  over  her 
arm,  she  bowed  her  head  assentingly,  and  still  keep 
ing  firm  hold  of  Carmena's  hand,  followed  her.  The 
graves  were  thick,  and  irregularly  placed,  each  mound 
marked  by  a  small  wooden  cross.  Carmena  led  with 


288  RAMONA. 

the  swift  step  of  one  who  knew  each  inch  of  the  way 
by  heart.  More  than  once  Eamona  stumbled  and 
nearly  fell,  and  Baba  was  impatient  and  restive  at 
the  strange  inequalities  under  his  feet.  When  they 
reached  the  corner,  Eamona  saw  the  fresh-piled  earth* 
of  the  new  grave.  Uttering  a  wailing  cry,  Carmena, 
'drawing  Eamona  to  the  edge  of  it,  pointed  down  with 
her  right  hand,  then  laid  both  hands  on  her  heart, 
and  gazed  at  Eamona  piteously.  Eamona  burst  into 
weeping,  and  again  clasping  Carmena's  hand,  laid  it 
on  her  own  breast,  to  show  her  sympathy.  Carmena 
did  not  weep.  She  was  long  past  that ;  and  she  felt 
for  the  moment  lifted  out  of  herself  by  the  sweet, 
sudden  sympathy  of  this  stranger,  —  this  girl  like  her 
self,  yet  so  different,  so  wonderful,  so  beautiful,  Car 
mena  was  sure  she  must  be.  Had  the  saints  sent 
her  from  heaven  to  Alessandro  ?  What  did  it  mean  ? 
Carmena's  bosom  was  heaving  with  the  things  she 
longed  to  say  and  to  ask  ;  but  all  she  could  do  was  to 
press  Eamoua's  hand  again  and  again,  and  occasion 
ally  lay  her  soft  cheek  upon  it. 

"  Now,  was  it  not  the  saints  that  put  it  into  my 
head  to  come  to  the  graveyard  ? "  thought  Eaniona. 
"  What  a  comfort  to  this  poor  heart-broken  thing  to 
see  Alessandro !  And  she  keeps  me  from  all  fear. 
Holy  Virgin !  but  I  had  died  of  terror  here  all  alone. 
Not  that  the  dead  would  harm  me ;  but  simply  from 
the  vast,  silent  plain,  and  the  gloom." 

Soon  Carmena  made  signs  to  Eamona  that  they 
would  return  to  the  gate.  Considerate  and  thought 
ful,  she  remembered  that  Alessandro  would  expect  to 
find  them  there.  But  it  was  a  long  and  weary  watch 
they  had,  waiting  for  Alessandro  to  come. 

After  leaving  them,  and  tethering  his  pony,  he  had 
struck  off  at  a  quick  run  for  Havtsel's,  which  was 
perhaps  an  eighth  of  a  mile  from  the  graveyard.  His 
own  old  home  lay  a  little  to  the  right.  As  he  drew 


RAMON  A.  289 

near,  he  saw  a  light  in  its  windows.  He  stopped  as 
if  shot.  "  A  light  in  our  house  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  and 
he  clenched  his  hands.  "  Those  cursed  robbers  have 
gone  into  it  to  live  already ! "  His  blood  seemed 
turning  to  fire.  Earnona  would  not  have  recognized 
the  face  of  her  Alessandro  now.  It  was  full  of  im 
placable  vengeance.  Involuntarily  he  felt  for  his 
knife.  It  was  gone.  His  gun  he  had  left  inside  the 
graveyard,  leaning  against  the  wall.  Ah !  in  the 
graveyard !  Yes,  and  there  also  was  Eamona  waiting 
for  him.  Thoughts  of  vengeance  fled.  The  world 
held  now  but  one  work,  one  hope,  one  passion,  for 
him.  But  he  would  at  least  see  who  were  these 
dwellers  in  his  father's  house.  A  fierce  desire  to  see 
their  faces  burned  within  him.  Why  should  he  thus 
torture  himself  ?  Why,  indeed  ?  But  he  must.  He 
would  see  the  new  home-life  already  begun  on  the 
grave  of  his.  Stealthily  creeping  under  the  window 
from  which  the  light  shone,  he  listened.  He  heard 
children's  voices ;  a  woman's  voice ;  at  intervals  the 
voice  of  a  man,  gruff  and  surly ;  various  household 
sounds  also.  It  was  evidently  the  supper-hour.  Cau 
tiously  raising  himself  till  his  eyes  were  on  a  level 
with  the  lowest  panes  in  the  window,  he  looked  in. 

A  table  was  set  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and 
there  were  sitting  at  it  a  man,  woman,  and  two 
children.  The  youngest,  little  more  than  a  baby, 
sat  in  its  high  chair,  drumming  with  a  spoon  on  the 
table,  impatient  for  its  supper.  The  room  was  in 
great  confusion,  —  beds  made  on  the  floor,  open  boxes 
half  unpacked,  saddles  and  harness  thrown  down  in 
corners ;  evidently  there  were  new-comers  into  the 
house.  The  window  was  open  by  an  inch.  It  had 
warped,  and  would  not  shut  down.  Bitterly  Alessan 
dro  recollected  how  he  had  put  off  from  day  to  day 
the  planing  of  that  window  to  make  it  shut  tight. 
Now,  thanks  to  that  crack,  he  could  hear  all  that 

10 


200  RAMON  A. 

was  said.  The  woman  looked  weary  and  worn.  Her 
face  was  a  sensitive  one,  and  her  voice  kindly ;  but 
the  man  had  the  countenance  of  a  brute,  —  of  a  hu 
man  brute.  Why  do  we  malign  the  so-called  brute 
creation,  making  their  names  a  unit  of  comparison 
for  base  traits  which  never  one  of  them  possessed  ? 

"  It  seems  as  if  I  never  should  get  to  rights  in 
this  world  ! "  said  the  woman.  Alessandro  understood 
enough  English  to  gather  the  meaning  of  what  she 
said.  He  listened  eagerly.  "When  will  the  next 
wagon  get  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  growled  her  husband.  "  There 's 
been  a  slide  in  that  cursed  canon,  and  blocked  the 
road.  They  won't  be  here  for  several  days  yet. 
Hain't  you  got  stuff  enough  round  now  ?  If  you  'd 
clear  up  what 's  here  now,  then  't  would  be  time 
enough  to  grumble  because  you  had  n't  got  every 
thing." 

"  But,  John,"  she  replied,  "  I  can 't  clear  up  till 
the  bureau  comes,  to  put  the  things  away  in,  and  the 
bedsteads.  I  can't  seem  to  do  anything." 

"  You  can  grumble,  I  take  notice,"  he  answered. 
"That's  about  all  you  women  are  good  for,  anyhow. 
There  was  a  first-rate  raw-hide  bedstead  in  here.  If 
Eothsaker  had  n't  been  such  a  fool 's  to  let  those  dogs 
of  Indians  carry  off  all  their  truck,  we  might  have 
had  that ! " 

The  woman  looked  at  him  reproachfully,  but  did 
not  speak  for  a  moment.  Then  her  cheeks  flushed, 
and  seeming  unable  to  repress  the  speech,  she  ex 
claimed,  "  Well,  I  'm  thankful  enough  he  did  let  the 
poor  things  take  their  furniture.  I  'd  never  have  slept 
a  wink  on  that  bedstead,  I  know,  if  it  had  ha'  been 
left  here.  It 's  bad  enough  to  take  their  houses  this 
way ! " 

"  Oh,  you  shut  up  your  head  for  a  blamed  fool, 
will  you  i  "  cried  the  man.  He  was  half  drunk,  his 


RAMONA.  291 

worst  and  most  dangerous  state.  She  glanced  at  him 
half  timorously,  half  indignantly,  and  turning  to  the 
children,  began  feeding  the  baby.  At  that  second  the 
other  child  looked  up,  and  catching  sight  of  the  out 
line  of  Alessaudro's  head,  cried  out,  "  There 's  a  man 
there  !  There,  at  the  window  ! " 

Alessandro  threw  himself  flat '  on  the  ground,  and 
held  his  breath.  Had  he  imperilled  all,  brought 
danger  on  himself  and  Eamoua,  by  yielding  to  this 
mad  impulse  to  look  once  more  inside  the  walls  of 
his  home  ?  With  a  fearful  oath,  the  half-drunken 
man  exclaimed,  "  One  of  those  damned  Indians,  I 
expect.  I've  seen  several  hangin'  round  to-day. 
We  '11  have  to  shoot  two  or  three  of  'em  yet,  before 
we  're  rid  of  'em  !  "  and  he  took  his  gun  down  from 
the  pegs  above  the  fireplace,  and  went  to  the  door 
with  it  in  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  don't  fire,  father,  don't ! "  cried  the  woman. 
"  They  '11  come  and  murder  us  all  in  our  sleep  if  you 
do  f  Don't  fire  !  "  and  she  pulled  him  back  by  the 
sleeve. 

Shaking  her  off,  with  another  oath,  he  stepped 
across  the  threshold,  and  stood  listening,  and  peering 
into  the  darkness.  Alessandro's  heart  beat  like  a 
hammer  in  his  breast.  Except  for  the  thought  of 
Eamona,  he  would  have  sprung  on  the  man,  seized 
his  gun,  and  killed  him. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  was  anybody,  after  all,  father," 
persisted  the  woman.  "  Bud  's  always  seem'  things. 
I  don't  believe  there  was  anybody  there.  Come  in  ; 
supper 's  gettin'  all  cold." 

"  Well,  I  '11  jest  fire,  to  let  'em  know  there 's  powder 
*n  shot  round  here,"  said  the  fiend.  "  If  it  hits  any  on 
'em  roamin'  round,  he  won't  know  what  hurt  him ; " 
and  levelling  his  gun  at  random,  with  his  drunken, 
unsteady  hand  he  fired.  The  bullet  whistled  away 
harmlessly  into  the  empty  darkness.  Hearkening  a 


292  RAMONA. 

few  moments,  and  hearing  no  cry,  he  hiccupped, 
"  Mi-i-issed  him  that  time,"  and  went  in  to  his 
supper. 

Alessandro  did  not  dare  to  stir  for  a  long  time* 
How  he  cursed  his  own  folly  in  having  brought  him-» 
self  into  this  plight !  What  needless  pain  of  waiting 
he  was  inflicting  on  the  faithful  one,  watching  for 
him  in  that  desolate  and  fearful  place  of  graves  !  At 
last  he  ventured,  —  sliding  along  on  his  belly  a  few 
inches  at  a  time,  till,  several  rods  from  the  house,  he 
dared  at  last  to  spring  to  his  feet  and  bound  away  at 
full  speed  for  Hartsel's. 

Hartsel's  was  one  of  those  mongrel  establishments 
to  be  seen  nowhere  except  in  Southern  California. 
Half  shop,  half  farm,  half  tavern,  it  gathered  up  to 
itself  all  the  threads  of  the  life  of  the  whole  region. 
Indians,  ranchmen,  travellers  of  all  sorts,  traded  at 
Hartsel's,  drank  at  Hartsel's,  slept  at  Hartsel's.  It 
was  the  only  place  of  its  kind  within  a  radius  of 
twenty  miles ;  and  it  was  the  least  bad  place  of  its 
kind  within  a  much  wider  radius. 

Hartsel  was  by  no  means  a  bad  fellow  —  when  he 
was  sober ;  but  as  that  condition  was  not  so  frequent 
as  it  should  have  been,  he  sometimes  came  near  being 
a  very  bad  fellow  indeed.  At  such  times  everybody 
was  afraid  of  him,  —  wife,  children,  travellers,  ranch 
men,  and  all.  "  It  was  only  a  question  of  time  and  oc 
casion,"  they  said,  "Hartsel's  killing  somebody  sooner 
or  later ; "  and  it  looked  as  if  the  time  were  drawing 
near  fast.  But,  out  of  his  cups,  Hartsel  was  kindly, 
and  fairly  truthful ;  entertaining,  too,  to  a  degree  which 
held  many  a  wayfarer  chained  to  his  chair  till  small 
hours  of  the  morning,  listening  to  his  landlord's  talk. 
How  he  had  drifted  from  Alsace  to  San  Diego  County, 
he  could  hardly  have  told  in  minute  detail  himself, 
there  had  been  so  many  stages  and  phases  of  the 
strange  journey ;  but  he  had  come  to  his  last  halt  now. 


EAMONA.  293 

Here,  in  this  Temecula,  he  would  lay  his  bones. 
He  liked  the  country.  He  liked  the  wild  life,  and, 
for  a  wonder,  he  liked  the  Indians.  Many  a  good 
word  he  spoke  for  them  to  travellers  who  believed  no 
good  of  the  race,  and  evidently  listened  with  polite 
incredulity  when  he  would  say,  as  he  often  did  :  "  I  've 
never  lost  a  dollar  off  these  Indians  yet.  They  do 
all  their  trading  with  me.  There  's  some  of  them  I 
trust  as  high  's  a  hundred  dollars.  If  they  can't  pay 
this  year,  they  '11  pay  next ;  and  if  they  die,  their  rela 
tions  will  pay  their  debts  for  them,  a  little  at  a  time, 
till  they  've  got  it  all  paid  off.  They  '11  pay  in  wheat, 
or  bring  a  steer,  maybe,  or  baskets  or  mats  the 
women  make  ;  but  they  '11  pay.  They're  honester  'n 
the  general  run  of  Mexicans  about  paying ;  I  mean 
Mexicans  that  are  as  poor  's  they  are." 

Hartsel's  dwelling-house  was  a  long,  low  adobe 
building,  with  still  lower  flanking  additions,  in  which 
were  bedrooms  for  travellers,  the  kitchen,  and  store 
rooms.  The  shop  was  a  separate  building,  of  rough 
planks,  a  story  and  a  half  high,  the  loft  of  which 
was  one  great  dormitory  well  provided  with  beds  on 
the  floor,  but  with  no  other  article  of  bedroom  furni 
ture.  They  who  slept  in  this  loft  had  no  fastidious 
standards  of  personal  luxury.  These  two  buildings, 
with  some  half-dozen  out-houses  of  one  sort  and  an 
other,  stood  in  an  enclosure  surrounded  by  a  low  white 
picket  fence,  which  gave  to  the  place  a  certain  home 
like  look,  spite  of  the  neglected  condition  of  the 
ground,  which  was  bare  sand,  or  sparsely  tufted 
with  weeds  and  wild  grass.  A  few  plants,  parched 
and  straggling,  stood  in  pots  and  tin  cans  around 
the  door  of  the  dwelling-house.  One  hardly  knew 
whether  they  made  the  place  look  less  desolate  or 
more  so.  But  they  were  token  of  a  woman's  hand, 
and  of  a  nature  which  craved  something  more  than 
the  unredeemed  wilderness  around  her  afforded. 


294  RAMONA. 

A  dull  and  lurid  light  streamed  out  from  the  wide- 
open  door  of  the  store.  Alessandro  drew  cautiously 
near.  The  place  was  full  of  men,  and  he  heard  loud 
laughing  and  talking.  He  dared  not  go  in.  Stealing 
around  to  the  rear,  he  leaped  the  fence,  and  went  to 
the  other  house  and  opened  the  kitchen  door.  Here 
he  was  not  afraid.  Mrs.  Hartsel  had  never  any  but 
Indian  servants  in  her  employ.  The  kitchen  was 
lighted  only  by  one  dim  candle.  On  the  stove  were 
sputtering  and  hissing  all  the  pots  and  frying-pans  it 
would  hold.  Much  cooking  was  evidently  going  on 
for  the  men  who  were  noisily  rollicking  in  the  other 
house. 

Seating  himself  by  the  fire,  Alessandro  waited.  In 
a  few  moments  Mrs.  Hartsel  came  hurrying  back  to 
her  work.  It  was  no  uncommon  experience  to  find 
an  Indian  quietly  sitting  by  her  fire.  In  the  dim 
light  she  did  not  recognize  Alessandro,  but  mis 
took  him,  as  he  sat  bowed  over,  his  head  in  his 
hands,  for  old  Eamon,  who  was  a  sort  of  recognized 
hanger-on  of  the  place,  earning  his  living  there  by 
odd  jobs  of  fetching  and  carrying,  and  anything  else 
he  could  do. 

"  Bun,  Ramon,"  she  said,  "  and  bring  me  moro 
wood ;  this  cottonwood  is  so  dry,  it  burns  out  like 
rotten  punk  ;  I  'm  off  my  feet  to-night,  with  all  these 
men  to  cook  for ; "  then  turning  to  the  table,  she  began 
cutting  her  bread,  and  did  not  see  how  tall  and  unlike 
Ramon  was  the  man  who  silently  rose  and  went  out 
to  do  her  bidding.  When,  a  few  moments  later,  Ales 
sandro  re-entered,  bringing  a  huge  armful  of  wood, 
which  it  would  have  cost  poor  old  Ramon  three 
journeys  at  least  to  bring,  and  throwing  it  down, 
on  the  hearth,  said,  "  Will  that  be  enough,  Mrs. 
Hartsel  ?  "  she  gave  a  scream  of  surprise,  and  dropped 
her  knife.  "  Why,  who  —  "  she  began ;  then,  seeing 
his  face,  her  own  lighting  up  with  pleasure,  she  con- 


RAMONA.  295 

tinued,  "  Alessandro  !  Is  it  you  ?  Why,  I  took  you 
in  the  dark  for  old  Eamon !  I  thought  you  were  in 
Pachanga." 

"  In  Pachanga  ! "  Then  as  yet  no  one  had  come 
from  the  Senora  Moreno's  to  Hartsel's  in  search  of 
him  and  the  Senorita  Ramona  !  Alessandro's  heart 
felt  almost  light  in  his  bosom.  From  the  one  imme 
diate  danger  he  had  dreaded,  they  were  safe ;  but  no 
trace  of  emotion  showed  on  his  face,  and  he  did  not 
raise  his  eyes  as  he  replied  :  "  I  have  been  in  Pachanga. 
My  father  is  dead.  I  have  buried  him  there." 

"  Oh,  Alessandro  !  Did  he  die  ?"  cried  the  kindty 
woman,  coming  close  to  Alessandro,  and  laying  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  heard  he  was  sick."  She 
paused ;  she  did  not  know  what  to  say.  She  had  suf 
fered  so  at  the  time  of  the  ejectment  of  the  Indians, 
that  it  had  made  her  ill.  For  two  days  she  had  kept 
her  doors  shut  and  her  windows  close  curtained,  that 
she  need  not  see  the  terrible  sights.  She  was  not  a 
woman  of  many  words.  She  was  a  Mexican,  but  there 
were  those  who  said  that  some  Indian  blood  ran  in  her 
veins.  This  was  not  improbable  ;  and  it  seemed  more 
than  ever  probable  now,  as  she  stood  still  by  Ales 
sandro's  side,  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  her  eyes  fixed 
in  distress  on  his  face.  How  he  had  altered  !  How 
well  she  recollected  his  lithe  figure,  his  alert  motion, 
his  superb  bearing,  his  handsome  face,  when  she  last 
saw  him  in  the  spring  ! 

"  You  were  away  all  summer,  Alessandro  ? "  she 
said  at  last,  turning  back  to  her  work. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  at  the  Senora  Moreno's." 

"  So  I  heard,"  she  said.  "  That  is  a  fine  great  place, 
is  it  not  ?  Is  her  son  grown  a  fine  man  ?  He  was  a 
lad  when  I  saw  him.  He  went  through  here  with 
a  drove  of  sheep  once." 

"Ay,  he  is  a  man  now,"  said  Alessandro,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands  again. 


296  EAMONA. 

"  Poor  fellow !  I  don't  wonder  he  does  not  want 
to  speak,"  thought  Mrs.  Hartsel.  "  I  '11  just  let  him 
alone ; "  and  she  spoke  no  more  for  some  moments. 

Alessandro  sat  still  by  the  fire.  A  strange  apathy 
seemed  to  have  seized  him  ;  at  last  he  said  wearily  : 
"  I  must  be  going  now.  I  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Hartsel 
a  minute,  but  he  seenis  to  be  busy  in  the  store." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  a  lot  of  San  Francisco  men ; 
they  belong  to  the  company  that 's  coming  in  here  in 
the  valley ;  they  've  been  here  two  days.  Oh,  Ales 
sandro,"  she  continued,  bethinking  herself,  "Jim's 
got  your  violin  here ;  Jose*  brought  it." 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  answered  Alessandro.  "Jose" 
told  me ;  and  that  was  one  thing  I  stopped  for." 

"  I  '11  run  and  get  it,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  No,"  said  Alessandro,  in  a  slow,  husky  voice.  "  I 
do  not  want  it.  I  thought  Mr.  Hartsel  might  buy 
it.  I  want  some  money.  It  was  not  mine ;  it  was 
my  father's.  It  is  a  great  deal  better  than  mine. 
My  father  said  it  would  bring  a  great  deal  of  money. 
It  is  very  old." 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  she  replied ;  "  one  of  those  men  in 
there  was  looking  at  it  last  night.  He  was  astonished 
at  it,  and  he  would  not  believe  Jim  when  he  told 
him  about  its  having  come  from  the  Mission." 

"  Does  he  play  ?  Will  he  buy  it  ? "  cried  Ales 
sandro. 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  '11  call  Jim,"  she  said ;  and  run 
ning  out  she  looked  in  at  the  other  door,  saying, 
"  Jim  !  Jim  !  " 

Alas,  Jim  was  in  no  condition  to  reply.  At  her 
first  glance  in  his  face,  her  countenance  hardened  into 
an  expression  of  disgust  and  defiance.  Returning  to 
the  kitchen,  she  said  scornfully,  disdaining  all  dis 
guises,  "  Jim  's  drunk.  ISTo  use  your  talking  to  him 
to-night.  Wait  till  morning." 

"  Till  morning  !  "      A  groan  escaped  from  Ales- 


RAMONA.  297 

sandro,  in  spite  of  himself.  "  I  can't ! "  he  cried.  "  I 
must  go  on  to-night." 

"  Why,  what  for  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hartsel,  much 
astonished.  For  one  brief  second  Alessandro  re 
volved  in  his  mind  the  idea  of  confiding  everything 
to  her ;  only  for  a  second,  however.  No ;  the  fewer 
knew  his  secret  and  Eamona's,  the  better. 

"  I  must  be  in  San  Diego  to-morrow,"  he  said. 

"  Got  work  there  ? "  she  said. 

"  Yes ;  that  is,  in  San  Pasquale,"  he  said ;  "  and  I 
ought  to  have  been  there  three  days  ago." 

Mrs.  Hartsel  mused.  "Jim  can't  do  anything 
to-night,"  she  said  ;  "  that 's  certain.  You  might  see 
the  man  yourself,  and  ask  him  if  he  'd  buy  it." 

Alessandro  shook  his  head.  An  invincible  repug 
nance  withheld  him.  He  could  not  face  one  of  these 
Americans  who  were  "coming  in"  to  his  valley. 
Mrs.  Hartsel  understood. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  Alessandro,"  said  the  kindly  woman, 
"  I  '11  give  you  what  money  you  need  to-night,  and 
then,  if  you  say  so,  Jim  '11  sell  the  violin  to-morrow, 
if  that  man  wants  it,  and  you  can  pay  me  back  out  of 
that,  and  when  you  're  along  this  way  again  you  can 
have  the  rest.  Jim  '11  make  as  good  a  trade  for  you 
's  he  can.  He  's  a  real  good  friend  to  all  of  you, 
Alessandro,  when  he  's  himself." 

"  I  know  it,  Mrs.  Hartsel.  I  'd  trust  Mr.  Hartsel 
more  than  any  other  man  in  this  country,"  said 
Alessandro.  "  He  's  about  the  only  white  man  I  do 
trust ! " 

Mrs.  Hartsel  was  fumbling  in  a  deep  pocket  in 
her  under-petticoat.  Gold-piece  after  gold-piece  she 
drew  out.  "  Humph  !  Got  more  'n  I  thought  I  had," 
she  said.  "  I  Ve  kept  all  that 's  been  paid  in  here  to 
day,  for  I  knew  Jim  'd  be  drunk  before  night." 

Alessandro's  eyes  fastened  on  the  gold.  How  he 
longed  for  an  abundance  of  those  little  shining  pieces 


298  RAMONA. 

for  his  Majella !  He  sighed  as  Mrs.  Hartsel  counted 
them  out  on  the  table,  —  one,  two,  three,  four,  bright 
five-dollar  pieces. 

"  That  is  as  much  as  I  dare  take,"  said  Alessandro, 
when  she  put  down  the  fourth.  "  Will  you  trust  me 
for  so  much  ? "  he  added  sadly.  "  You  know  I  have 
nothing  left  now.  Mrs.  Hartsel,  I  am  only  a  beggar, 
till  I  get  some  work  to  do." 

The  tears  came  into  Mrs.  Hartsel's  eyes.  "  It 's  a 
shame  ! "  she  said,  —  "a  shame,  Alessandro !  Jim  and 
I  have  n't  thought  of  anything  else,  since  it  happened. 
Jim  says  they  '11  never  prosper,  never.  Trust  you  ? 
Yes,  indeed.  Jim  and  1 11  trust  you,  or  your  father, 
the  last  day  of  our  lives." 

"  I  'm  glad  he  is  dead,"  said  Alessandro,  as  he 
knotted  the  gold  into  his  handkerchief  and  put  it 
into  his  bosom.  "  But  he  was  murdered,  Mrs.  Hart 
sel,  —  murdered,  just  as  much  as  if  they  had  fired  a 
bullet  into  him." 

"  That  s  true ! "  she  exclaimed  vehemently.  "  I  say 
so  too  ;  and  so  was  Jose.  That 's  just  what  I  said  at 
the  time,  —  that  bullets  would  not  be  half  so  inhu 
man  ! " 

The  words  had  hardly  left  her  lips,  when  the  door 
from  the  dining-room  burst  open,  and  a  dozen  men, 
headed  by  the  drunken  Jim,  came  stumbling,  laugh 
ing,  reeling  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Where  's  supper !  Give  us  our  supper !  What  are 
you  about  with  your  Indian  here  ?  I  '11  teach  you 
how  to  cook  ham ! "  stammered  Jim,  making  a  lurch 
towards  the  stove.  The  men  behind  caught  him  and 
saved  him.  Eying  the  group  with  slow  scorn,  Mrs. 
Hartsel,  who  had  not  a  cowardly  nerve  in  her  body, 
said :  "  Gentlemen,  if  you  will  take  your  seats  at 
the  table,  I  will  bring  in  your  supper  immediately. 
It  is  all  ready." 

One  or  two  of  the  soberer  ones,  shamed  by  her  tone, 


RAMON  A.  299 

led  the  rest  back  into  the  dining-room,  where,  seat 
ing  themselves,  they  began  to  pound  the  table  and 
swing  the  chairs,  swearing,  and  singing  ribald  songs. 

"  Get  off  as  quick  as  you  can,  Alessandro,"  whis 
pered  Mrs.  Hartsel,  as  she  passed  by  him,  standing 
like  a  statue,  his  eyes,  full  of  hatred  and  contempt, 
fixed  on  the  tipsy  group.  "  You  'd  better  go.  There  '3 
no  knowing  what  they  '11  do  next." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  ?  "  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 

"  No  ! "  she  said.  "  I  'm  used  to  it.  I  can  always 
manage  Jim.  And  Ramon 's  round  somewhere,  —  he 
and  the  bull-pups  ;  if  worse  comes  to  worst,  I  can 
call  the  dogs.  These  San  Francisco  fellows  are 
always  the  worst  to  get  drunk.  But  you'd  better 
get  out  of  the  way ! " 

"  And  these  are  the  men  that  have  stolen  OUT 
lands,  and  killed  my  father,  and  Jose,  and  Carmena's 
baby  ! "  thought  Alessandfo,  as  he  ran  swiftly  back 
towards  the  graveyard.  "And  Father  Salvierderra 
says,  God  is  good.  It  must  be  the  saints  no  longer 
pray  to  Him  for  us ! " 

But  Alessandro' s  heart  was  too  full  of  other 
thoughts,  now,  to  dwell  long  on  past  wrongs,  how 
ever  bitter.  The  present  called  him  too  loudly. 
Putting  his  hand  in  his  bosom,  and  feeling  the  soft, 
knotted  handkerchief,  he  thought :  "  Twenty  dollars  ! 
It  is  not  much !  But  it  will  buy  food  for  many  days 
for  my  Majella  and  for  Babal" 


XVIII. 

"TpXCEPT  for  the  reassuring  help  of  Carmena's 
I'J  presence  by  her  side,  Ramona  would  never  have 
had  courage  to  remain  during  this  long  hour  in  the 
graveyard.  As  it  was,  she  twice  resolved  to  bear 
the  suspense  no  longer,  and  made  a  movement  to  go. 
The  chance  of  Alessandro's  encountering  at  Hartsel's 
the  men  sent  in  pursuit  of  him  and  of  Baba,  loomed 
in  her  thoughts  into  a  more  and  more  frightful  danger 
each  moment  she  reflected  upon  it.  It  was  a  most 
unfortunate  suggestion  for  Alessandro  to  have  made. 
Her  excited  fancy  went  on  and  on,  picturing  the 
possible  scenes  which  might  be  going  on  almost 
within  stone's-throw  of  where  she  was  sitting,  help 
less,  in  the  midnight  darkness, —  Alessandro  seized, 
tied,  treated  as  a  thief,  and  she,  Ramona,  not  there 
to  vindicate  him,  to  terrify  the  men  into  letting  him 
go.  She  could  not  bear  it ;  she  would  ride  boldly  to 
Hartsel's  door.  But  when  she  made  a  motion  as  if 
she  would  go,  and  said  in  the  soft  Spanish,  of  which 
Carmena  knew  no  word,  but  which  yet  somehow  con 
veyed  Ramona's  meaning,  "  I  must  go  !  It  is  too  long ! 
I  cannot  wait  here  ! "  Carmena  had  clasped  her  hand 
tighter,  and  said  in  the  San  Luiseno  tongue,  of  which 
Ramona  knew  no  word,  but  which  yet  somehow  con 
veyed  Carmena's  meaning,  "  0  beloved  lady,  you 
must  not  go  !  Waiting  is  the  only  safe  thing.  Ales 
sandro  said,  to  wait  here.  He  will  come."  The  word 
"  Alessandro  "  was  plain.  Yes,  Alessandro  had  said, 
wait ;  Carmena  was  right.  She  would  obey,  but  it  was 
a  fearful  ordeal.  It  was  strange  how  Ramona,  who 


RAMONA.  301 

felt  herself  preternaturally  brave,  afraid  of  nothing, 
so  long  as  Alessaudro  was  by  her  side,  became  timor 
ous  and  wretched  the  instant  he  was  lost  to  her  sight. 
When  she  first  heard  his  steps  coming,  she  quivered 
with  terror  lest  they  might  not  be  his.  The  next  sec 
ond  she  knew ;  and  with  a  glad  cry,  "  Alessandro !  Ales- 
sandro  ! "  she  bounded  to  him,  dropping  Baba's  reins. 

Sighing  gently,  Carmena  picked  up  the  reins,  and 
stood  still,  holding  the  horse,  while  the  lovers  clasped 
each  other  with  breathless  words.  "  How  she  loves 
Alessandro  ! "  thought  the  widowed  Carmena.  "  Will 
they  leave  him  alive  to  stay  with  her  ?  It  is  better 
not  to  love  ! "  But  there  was  no  bitter  envy  in  her 
mind  for  the  two  who  were  thus  blest  while  she  went 
desolate.  All  of  Pablo's  people  had  great  affection  for 
Alessandro.  They  had  looked  forward  to  his  being 
over  them  in  his  father's  place.  They  knew  his 
goodness,  and  were  proud  of  his  superiority  to 
themselves. 

"Majella,  you  tremble,"  said  Alessandro,  as  he 
threw  his  arms  around  her.  "  You  have  feared  !  Yet 
you  were  not  alone."  He  glanced  at  Carinena's  mo 
tionless  figure,  standing  by  Baba. 

"No,  not  alone,  dear  Alessandro;  but  it  was  so 
long !  "  replied  Ramona  ;  "  and  I  feared  the  men  had 
taken  you,  as  you  feared.  Was  there  any  one  there  ? " 

"  No  !  No  one  had  heard  anything.  All  was  well. 
They  thought  I  had  just  come  from  Pachanga,"  he 
answered. 

"Except  for  Carmena,  I  should  have  ridden  after 
you  half  an  hour  ago,"  continued  Eamona.  "  But  she 
told  me  to  wait." 

"  She  told  you ! "  repeated  Alessandro.  "  How  did 
you  understand  her  speech  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  Was  it  not  a  strange  thing  ? " 
replied  Rarnona.  "  She  spoke  in  your  tongue,  but  I 
thought  I  understood  her.  Ask  her  if  she  did  not 


302  RAMONA. 

say  that  I  must  not  go ;  that  it  was  safer  to  wait ;  that 
you  had  so  said,  and  you  would  soon  come." 

Alessandro  repeated  the  words  to  Carmena.  "  Did 
you  say  that  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Carmena. 

"You  see,  then,  she  has  understood  the  Luiseno 
words,"  he  said  delightedly.  "  She  is  one  of  us." 

"  Yes,"  said  Carmena,  gravely,  "  she  is  one  of  us  ! " 
Then,  taking  Ramona's  hand  in  both  of  her  own  for 
farewell,  she  repeated,  in  a  tone  as  of  dire  prophecy, 
"  One  of  us,  Alessandro  !  one  of  us  ! "  And  as  she 
gazed  after  their  retreating  forms,  almost  immediately 
swallowed  and  lost  in  the  darkness,  she  repeated  the 
words  again  to  herself,  — "  One  of  us  !  one  of  us ! 
Sorrow  came  to  me ;  she  rides  to  meet  it ! "  and  she 
crept  back  to  her  husband's  grave,  and  threw  herself 
down,  to  watch  till  the  dawn. 

The  road  which  Alessandro  would  naturally  have 
taken  would  carry  them  directly  by  Hartsel's  again. 
But,  wishing  to  avoid  all  risk  of  meeting  or  being 
seen  by  any  of  the  men  on  the  place,  he  struck  well 
out  to  the  north,  to  make  a  wide  circuit  around  it. 
This  brought  them  past  the  place  where  Antonio's 
house  had  stood.  Here  Alessandro  halted,  and  put 
ting  his  hand  on  Baba's  rein,  walked  the  horses  close  to 
the  pile  of  ruined  walls.  "  This  was  Antonio's  house, 
Majella,"  he  whispered.  "  I  wish  every  house  in  the 
valley  had  been  pulled  down  like  this.  Old  Juana 
was  right.  The  Americans  are  living  in  my  father's 
house,  Majella,"  he  went  on,  his  whisper  growing 
thick  with  rage.  "  That  was  what  kept  me  so  long.  I 
was  looking  in  at  the  window  at  them  eating  their  sup 
per.  I  thought  I  should  go  mad,  Majella.  If  I  had 
had  my  gun,  I  should  have  shot  them  all  dead ! " 

An  almost  inarticulate  gasp  was  Ramona's  first 
reply  to  this.  "Living  in  your  house!"  she  said. 
"  You  saw  them  ? " 


RAMONA.  303 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  the  man,  and  his  wife,  and  two 
little  children ;  and  the  man  came  out,  with  his  gun, 
011  the  doorstep,  and  fired  it.  They  thought  they 
heard  something  moving,  and  it  might  be  an  Indian ; 
so  he  fired.  That  was  what  kept  me  so  long." 

Just  at  this  moment  Baba  tripped  over  some  small, 
object  on  the  ground.  A  few  steps  farther,  and  he 
tripped  again.  "  There  is  something  caught  round  his 
foot,  Alessaudro,"  said  llamona.  "  It  keeps  moving." 

Alessandro  jumped  off  his  horse,  and  kneeling 
down,  exclaimed,  "  It 's  a  stake,  —  and  the  lariat  fas- 
ened  to  it.  Holy  Virgin  !  what  —  "  The  rest  of  his 
ejaculation  was  inaudible.  The  next  Ramona  knew, 
he  had  run  swiftly  on,  a  rod  or  two.  Baba  had  fol 
lowed,  and  Capitan  and  the  pony ;  and  there  stood  a 
splendid  black  horse,  as  big  as  Baba,  and  Alessandro 
talking  under  his  breath  to  him,  and  clapping  both  his 
hands  over  the  horse's  nose,  to  stop  him,  as  often  as 
he  began  whinnying ;  and  it  seemed  hardly  a  second 
more  before  he  had  his  saddle  off  the  poor  little 
Indian  pony,  and  striking  it  sharply  on  its  sides  had 
turned  it  free,  had  saddled  the  black  horse,  and  leap 
ing  on  his  back,  said,  with  almost  a  sob  in  his  voice : 
"  My  Majella,  it  is  Benito,  my  own  Benito.  Now  the 
saints  indeed  have  helped  us !  Oh,  the  ass,  the  idiot, 
to  stake  out  Benito  with  such  a  stake  as  that !  A  jack 
rabbit  had  pulled  it  up.  Now,  my  Majella,  we  will 
gallop  I  Faster  !  faster !  I  will  not  breathe  easy  till 
we  are  out  of  this  cursed  valley.  When  we  are  once 
in  the  Santa  Margarita  Canon,  I  know  a  trail  they 
will  never  find  ! " 

Like  the  wind  galloped  Benito,  —  Alessandro  half 
lying  on  his  back,  stroking  his  forehead,  whispering  to 
him,  the  horse  snorting  with  joy :  which  were  gladder 
of  the  two,  horse  or  man,  could  not  be  said.  And 
neck  by  neck  with  Benito  came  Baba.  How  the 
ground  flew  away  under  their  feet !  This  was  com- 


304  RAMONA. 

panionship,  indeed,  worthy  of  Baba's  best  powers. 
Not  in  all  the  California  herds  could  be  found  two 
superber  horses  than  Benito  and  Baba.  A  wild, 
almost  reckless  joy  took  possession  of  Alessandro. 
Earaona  was  half  terrified  as  she  heard  him  still 
talking,  talking  to  Benito.  For  an  hour  they  did  not 
draw  rein.  Both  Benito  and  Alessandro  knew  every 
inch  of  the  ground.  Then,  just  as  they  had  descended 
into  the  deepest  part  of  the  canon,  Alessandro  sud 
denly  reined  sharply  to  the  left,  and  began  climbing 
the  precipitous  wall.  "  Can  you  follow,  dearest 
Majella  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Do  you  suppose  Benito  can  do  anything  that 
Baba  cannot  ? "  she  retorted,  pressing  on  closely. 

But  Baba  did  not  like  it.  Except  for  the  stimu 
lus  of  Benito  ahead,  he  would  have  given  Eamona 
trouble. 

"  There  is  only  a  little,  rough  like  this,  dear,"  called 
Alessandro,  as  he  leaped  a  fallen  tree,  and  halted  to 
see  how  Baba  took  it.  "  Good ! "  he  cried,  as  Baba 
jumped  it  like  a  deer.  "Good!  Majella!  We  have 
got  the  two  best  horses  in  the  country.  You  '11  see 
they  are  alike,  when  daylight  comes.  I  have  often 
wondered  they  were  so  much  alike.  They  would  go 
together  splendidly." 

After  a  few  rods  of  this  steep  climbing  they  came 
out  on  the  top  of  the  canon's  south  wall,  in  a 
dense  oak  forest  comparatively  free  from  underbrush. 
"  Now,"  said  Alessandro,  "  I  can  go  from  here  to  San 
Diego  by  paths  that  no  white  man  knows.  We  will 
be  near  there  before  daylight." 

Already  the  keen  salt  air  of  the  ocean  smote  their 
faces.  Kamona  drank  it  in  with  delight.  "  I  taste 
salt  in  the  air,  Alessandro,"  she  cried. 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  sea,"  he  said.  "  This  canon  leads 
straight  to  the  sea.  I  wish  we  could  go  by  the  shore, 
Majella.  It  is  beautiful  there.  When  it  is  still,  the 


RAMONA.  305 

waves  come  as  gently  to  the  land  as  if  they  were  in 
play ;  and  you  can  ride  along  with  your  horse's  feet 
in  the  water,  and  the  green  cliffs  almost  over  your 
head ;  and  the  air  off  the  water  is  like  wine  in  one's 
head." 

"  Cannot  we  go  there  ? "  she  said  longingly. 
"  Would  it  not  be  safe  ? " 

"  I  dare  not,"  he  answered  regretfully.  "  Not 
now,  Majella ;  for  on  the  shore-way,  at  all  times, 
there  are  people  going  and  coming." 

"  Some  other  time,  Alessandro,  we  can  come,  after 
we  are  married,  and  there  is  no  danger?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  Majella,"  he  replied;  but  as  he  spoke  the 
words,  he  thought,  "  Will  a  time  ever  come  when  there 
will  be  no  danger  ?  " 

The  shore  of  the  Pacific  Ocean  for  many  miles  north 
of  San  Diego  is  a  succession  of  rounding  promon 
tories,  walling  the  mouths  of  canons,  down  many  of 
which  small  streams  make  to  the  sea.  These  canons 
are  green  and  rich  at  bottom,  and  filled  with  trees, 
chiefly  oak.  Beginning  as  little  more  than  rifts  in  the 
ground,  they  deepen  and  widen,  till  at  their  mouths 
they  have  a  beautiful  crescent  of  shining  beach  from 
an  eighth  to  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long.  The  one 
which  Alessandro  hoped  to  reach  before  morning  was 
not  a  dozen  miles  from  the  old  town  of  San  Diego, 
and  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the  outer  harbor. 
When  he  was  last  in  it,  he  had  found  it  a  nearly 
impenetrable  thicket  of  young  oak-trees.  Here,  he 
believed,  they  could  hide  safely  all  day,  and  after 
nightfall  ride  into  San  Diego,  be  married  at  the 
priest's  house,  and  push  on  to  San  Pasquale  that 
same  night.  "All  day,  in  that  caiion,  Majella  can 
look  at  the  sea,"  he  thought ;  "  but  I  will  not  tell  her 
now,  for  it  may  be  the  trees  have  been  cut  down,  and 
we  cannot  be  so  close  to  the  shore." 

It  was  near  sunrise  when  they  reached  the  place. 
20 


306  RAMONA. 

The  trees  had  not  been  cut  down.  Their  tops,  seen 
from  above,  looked  like  a  solid  bed  of  moss  filling  in 
the  canon  bottom.  The  sky  and  the  sea  were  both 
red.  As  Kamona  looked  down  into  this  soft  green 
pathway,  it  seemed,  leading  out  to  the  wide  and 
sparkling  sea,  she  thought  Alessandro  had  brought 
her  into  a  fairy-land. 

"  What  a  beautiful  world  ! "  she  cried ;  and  riding 
up  so  close  to  Benito  that  she  could  lay  her  hand  on 
Alessaudro's,  she  said  solemnly :  "  Do  you  not  think 
we  ought  to  be  very  happy,  Alessandro,  in  such  a 
beautiful  world  as  this  ?  Do  you  think  we  might 
sing  our  sunrise  hymn  here  ? " 

Alessandro  glanced  around.  They  were  alone  on 
the  breezy  open ;  it  was  not  yet  full  dawn ;  great 
masses  of  crimson  vapor  were  floating  upward  from 
the  hills  behind  San  Diego.  The  light  was  still  burn 
ing  in  the  light-house  on  the  promontory  walling  the 
inner  harbor,  but  in  a  few  moments  more  it  would  be 
day.  "  No,  Majella,  not  here  ! "  he  said.  "  We  must 
not  stay.  As  soon  as  the  sun  rises,  a  man  or  a  horse 
may  be  seen  on  this  upper  coast-line  as  far  as  eye 
can  reach.  We  must  be  among  the  trees  with  all 
the  speed  we  can  make." 

It  was  like  a  house  with  a  high,  thick  roof  of  oak 
tree-tops,  the  shelter  they  found.  No  sun  penetrated 
it ;  a  tiny  trickle  of  water  still  remained,  and  some 
grass  along  its  rims  was  still  green,  spite  of  the  long 
drought,  —  a  scanty  meal  for  Baba  and  Benito,  but 
they  ate  it  with  relish  in  each  other's  company. 

"  They  like  each  other,  those  two,"  said  Kamona, 
laughing,  as  she  watched  them.  "  They  will  be 
friends." 

"  Ay,"  said  Alessandro,  also  smiling.  "  Horses  are 
friends,  like  men,  and  can  hate  each  other,  like  men, 
too.  Benito  would  never  see  Antonio's  mare,  the 
little  yellow  one,  that  he  did  not  let  fly  his  heels  at 


RAMONA.  307 

her;  and  she  was  as  afraid,  at  sight  of  him,  as  a  cat  is 
at  a  dog.  Many  a  time  I  have  laughecj.  to  see  it." 

"  Know  you  the  priest  at  San  Diego  ? "  asked 
Ramona. 

"  Not  well,"  replied  Alessandro.  "  He  came  seldom 
to  Temecula  when  I  was  there ;  but  he  is  a  friend  of 
Indians.  1  know  he  came  with  the  men  from  San 
Diego  at  the  time  when  there  was  fighting,  and  the 
whites  were  in  great  terror ;  and  they  said,  except  for 
Father  Gaspara's  words,  there  would  not  have  been  a 
white  man  left  alive  in  Pala.  My  father  had  sent  all 
his  people  away  before  that  fight  began.  He  knew  it 
was  coming,  but  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  He  said  the  Indians  were  all  crazy.  It  was  no 
use.  They  would  only  be  killed  themselves.  That 
is  the  worst  thing,  my  Majella.  The  stupid  Indians 
fight  and  kill,  and  then  what  can  we  do  ?  The  white 
men  think  we  are  all  the  same.  Father  Gaspara  has 
never  been  to  Pala,  I  heard,  since  that  time.  There 
goes  there  now  the  San  Juan  Capistrano  priest.  He 
is  a  bad  man.  He  takes  money  from  the  starving 
poor." 

"  A  priest ! "  ejaculated  Ramona,  horror-stricken. 

"  Ay  !  a  priest ! "  replied  Alessandro.  "  They  are 
not  all  good,  —  not  like  Father  Salvierderra." 

"  Oh,  if  we  could  but  have  gone  to  Father  Salvier 
derra  ! "  exclaimed  Ramona,  involuntarily. 

Alessandro  looked  distressed.  "  It  would  have 
been  much  more  danger,  Majella,"  he  said,  "  and  I  had 
no  knowledge  of  work  I  could  do  there." 

His  look  made  Ramona  remorseful  at  once.  How 
cruel  to  lay  one  feather-weight  of  additional  burden 
on  this  loving  man  !  "  Oil,  this  is  much  better, 
really,"  she  said.  "  I  did  not  mean  what  I  said.  It 
is  only  because  I  have  always  loved  Father  Salvier 
derra  so.  And  the  Senora  will  tell  him  what  is  not 
true.  Could  we  not  send  him  a  letter,  Alessandro  ?  " 


308  RAMON  A. 

"There  is  a  Santa  Inez  Indian  I  know,"  replied 
Alessandro,  "  who  comes  down  with  nets  to  sell, 
sometimes,  to  Temecula.  I  know  not  if  he  goes  to 
San  Diego.  If  I  could  get  speech  with  him,  he  would 
go  up  from  Santa  Inez  to  Santa  Barbara  for  me,  I| 
am  sure ;  for  once  he  lay  in  my  father's  house,  sick 
for  many  weeks,  and  I  nursed  him,  and  since  then 
he  is  always  begging  me  to  take  a  net  from  him, 
whenever  he  comes.  It  is  not  two  days  from  Santa 
Inez  to  Santa  Barbara." 

"  I  wish  it  were  the  olden  time  now,  Alessandro," 
sighed  Eamona,  "  when  the  men  like  Father  Salvier- 
derra  had  all  the  country.  Then  there  would  be  work 
for  all,  at  the  Missions.  The  Senora  says  the  Missions 
were  like  palaces,  and  that  there  were  thousands  of 
Indians  in  every  one  of  them ;  thousands  and  thou 
sands,  all  working  so  happy  and  peaceful." 

"  The  Senora  does  not  know  all  that  happened  at 
the  Missions,"  replied  Alessandro.  "  My  father  says 
that  at  some  of  them  were  dreadful  things,  when  bad 
men  had  power.  Never  any  such  things  at  San  Luis 
Key.  Father  Peyri  was  like  a  father  to  all  his  Indians. 
My  father  says  that  they  would  all  of  them  lie  down 
in  a  fire  for  him,  if  he  had  commanded  it.  And 
when  he  went  away,  to  leave  the  country,  when  his 
heart  was  broken,  and  the  Mission  all  ruined,  he 
had  to  fly  by  night,  Majella,  j  ust  as  you  and  I  have 
done ;  for  if  the  Indians  had  known  it,  they  would 
have  risen  up  to  keep  him.  There  was  a  ship  here  in 
San  Diego  harbor,  to  sail  for  Mexico,  and  the  Father 
made  up  his  mind  to  go  in  it ;  and  it  was  over  this 
same  road  we  have  come,  my  Majella,  that  he  rode, 
and  by  night ;  and  my  father  was  the  only  one  he 
trusted  to  know  it.  My  father  came  with  him  ;  they 
took  the  swiftest  horses,  and  they  rode  all  night,  and 
my  father  carried  in  front  of  him,  on  the  horse,  a  box 
of  the  sacred  things  of  the  altar,  very  heavy.  And 


RAMONA.  309 

many  a  time  my  father  has  told  me  the  story,  how 
they  got  to  San  Diego  at  daybreak,  and  the  Father 
was  rowed  out  to  the  ship  in  a  little  boat ;  and  not 
much  more  than  on  board  was  he,  my  father  stand 
ing  like  one  dead  on  the  shore,  watching,  he  loved 
him  so,  when,  lo !  he  heard  a  great  crying,  and 
shouting,  and  trampling  of  horses'  feet,  and  there 
came  galloping  down  to  the  water's  edge  three 
hundred  of  the  Indians  from  San  Luis  Eey,  who  had 
found  out  that  the  Father  had  gone  to  San  Diego  to 
take  ship,  and  they  had  ridden  all  night  on  his  track, 
to  fetch  him  back.  And  when  my  father  pointed  to 
the  ship,  and  told  them  he  was  already  on  board, 
they  set  up  a  cry  fit  to  bring  the  very  sky  down ; 
and  some  of  them  flung  themselves  into  the  sea,  and 
swam  out  to  the  ship,  and  cried  and  begged  to  be 
taken  on  board  and  go  with  him.  And  Father  Peyri 
stood  on  the  deck,  blessing  them,  and  saying  fare 
well,  with  the  tears  running  on  his  face ;  and  one  of 
the  Indians  —  how  they  never  knew  —  made  shift 
to  climb  up  on  the  chains  and  ropes,  and  got  into  the 
ship  itself ;  and  they  let  him  stay,  and  he  sailed  away 
with  the  Father.  And  my  father  said  he  was  all  his 
life  sorry  that  he  himself  had  not  thought  to  do  the 
same  thing ;  but  he  was  like  one  dumb  and  deaf  and 
with  no  head,  he  was  so  unhappy  at  the  Father's 
going." 

"Was  it  here,  in  this  very  harbor  ? "  asked  Eamona, 
in  breathless  interest,  pointing  out  towards  the  blue 
water  of  which  they  could  see  a  broad  belt  framed 
by  their  leafy  foreground  arch  of  oak  tops. 

"Ay,  just  there  he  sailed,  —  as  that  ship  goes 
now,"  he  exclaimed,  as  a  white-sailed  schooner  sailed 
swiftly  by,  going  out  to  sea.  "  But  the  ship  lay  at 
first  inside  the  bar ;  you  cannot  see  the  inside  har 
bor  from  here.  It  is  the  most  beautiful  water  I  have 
ever  seen,  Majella.  The  two  high  lands  come  out 


310  RAMONA. 

like  two  arms  to  hold  it  and  keep  it  safe,  as  if  they 
loved  it." 

"  But,  Alessandro,"  continued  Earaona,  "  were  there 
really  bad  men  at  the  other  Missions  ?  Surely  not  the 
Franciscan  Fathers  ? " 

"  Perhaps  not  the  Fathers  themselves,  but  the  men 
under  them.  It  was  too  much  power,  Majella.  When 
my  father  has  told  me  how  it  was,  it  has  seemed  to 
me  I  should  not  have  liked  to  be  as  he  was.  It  is 
not  right  that  one  man  should  have  so  much  power. 
There  was  one  at  the  San  Gabriel  Mission;  he  was 
an  Indian.  He  had  been  set  over  the  rest ;  and  when 
a  whole  band  of  them  ran  away  one  time,  and  went 
back  into  the  mountains,  he  went  after  them  ;  and  he 
brought  back  a  piece  of  each  man's  ear ;  the  pieces 
were  strung  on  a  string ;  and  he  laughed,  and  said 
that  was  to  know  them  by  again,  —  by  their  clipped 
ears.  An  old  woman,  a  Gabrieleno,  who  came  over  to 
Ternecula,  told  me  she  saw  that.  She  lived  at  the 
Mission  herself.  The  Indians  did  not  all  want  to 
come  to  the  Missions ;  some  of  them  preferred  to  stay 
in  the  woods,  and  live  as  they  always  had  lived ;  and 
I  think  they  had  a  right  to  do  that  if  they  preferred, 
Majella.  It  was  stupid  of  them  to  stay  and  be  like 
beasts,  and  not  know  anything  ;  but  do  you  not  think 
they  had  the  right  ? " 

"  It  is  the  command  to  preach  the  gospel  to  every 
creature,"  replied  the  pious  Eamona.  "That  is  what 
Father  Salvierderra  said  was  the  reason  the  Francis 
cans  came  here.  I  think  they  ought  to  have  made 
the  Indians  listen.  But  that  was  dreadful  about  the 
ears,  Alessandro.  Do  you  believe  it  ? " 

"The  old  woman  laughed  when  she  told  it."  he 
answered.  "  She  said  it  was  a  joke  ;  so  I  think  it 
was  true.  I  know  I  would  have  killed  the  man  who 
tried  to  crop  my  ears  that  way." 

"  Did  you  ever  tell  that  to  Father  Salvierderra  ? " 
asked  Eamona. 


RAMON  A.  311 

"No,  Majella,  It  would  not  be  polite,"  said 
Alessandro. 

"  Well,  I  don't  believe  it,"  replied  Ramona,  in  a 
relieved  tone.  "  I  don't  believe  any  Franciscan  ever 
could  have  permitted  such  things." 

The  great  red  light  in  the  light-house  tower  had 
again  blazed  out,  and  had  been  some  time  burning, 
before  Alessandro  thought  it  prudent  to  resume  their 
journey.  The  road  on  which  they  must  go  into  old 
San'Diego,  where  Father  Gaspara  lived,  was  the  public 
road  from  San  Diego  to  San  Luis  Key,  and  they  were 
almost  sure  to  meet  travellers  on  it. 

But  their  fleet  horses  bore  them  so  well,  that  it 
was  not  late  when  they  reached  the  town.  Father 
Gaspara' s  house  was  at  the  end  of  a  long,  low  adobe 
building,  which  had  served  no  mean  purpose  in  the 
old  Presidio  days,  but  was  now  fallen  into  decay ;  and 
all  its  rooms,  except  those  occupied  by  the  Father,  had 
been  long  uninhabited.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way,  in  a  neglected,  weedy  open,  stood  his  chapel,  — 
a  poverty-stricken  little  place,  its  walls  imperfectly 
whitewashed,  decorated  by  a  few  coarse  pictures  and 
by  broken  sconces  of  looking-glass,  rescued  in  their 
dilapidated  condition  from  the  Mission  buildings 
now  gone  utterly  to  ruin.  In  these  had  been  put 
candle-holders  of  common  tin,  in  which  a  few  cheap 
candles  dimly  lighted  the  room.  Everything  about  it 
was  in  unison  with  the  atmosphere  of  the  place,  —  the 
most  profoundly  melancholy  in  all  Southern  Califor 
nia.  Here  was  the  spot  where  that  grand  old  Fran 
ciscan,  Padre  Junipero  Serra,  began  his  work,  full  of  the 
devout  and  ardent  purpose  to  reclaim  the  wilderness 
and  its  peoples  to  his  country  and  his  Church ;  on  this 
very  beach  he  went  up  and  down  for  those  first 
terrible  weeks,  nursing  the  sick,  praying  with  the 
dying,  and  burying  the  dead,  from  the  pestilence- 
stricken  Mexican  ships  lying  in  the  harbor.  Here  he 


312  RAMON  A. 

baptized  his  first  Indian  converts,  and  founded  his 
first  Mission.  And  the  only  traces  now  remaining  of 
his  heroic  labors  and  hard-won  successes  were  a  pile 
of  crumbling  ruins,  a  few  old  olive-trees  and  palms ; 
in  less  than  another  century  even  these  would  be 
gone ;  returned  into  the  keeping  of  that  mother,  the 
earth,  who  puts  no  headstones  at  the  sacredest  of  her 
graves. 

Father  Gaspara  had  been  for  many  years  at  San 
Diego.  Although  not  a  Franciscan,  having,  indeed,  no 
especial  love  for  the  order,  he  had  been  from  the  first 
deeply  impressed  by  the  holy  associations  of  the  place. 
He  had  a  nature  at  once  fiery  and  poetic ;  there  were 
but  three  things  he  could  have  been, —  a  soldier,  a  poet, 
or  a  priest.  Circumstances  had  made  him  a  priest ; 
and  the  fire  and  the  poetry  which  would  have  wielded 
the  sword  or  kindled  the  verse,  had  he  found  himself 
set  either  to  fight  or  to  sing,  had  all  gathered  into 
added  force  in  his  priestly  vocation.  The  look  of  a 
soldier  he  had  never  quite  lost,  —  neither  the  look 
nor  the  tread ;  and  his  flashing  dark  eyes,  heavy 
black  hair  and  beard,  and  quick  elastic  step,  seemed 
sometimes  strangely  out  of  harmony  with  his  priest's 
gown.  And  it  was  the  sensitive  soul  of  the  poet  in 
him  which  had  made  him  withdraw  within  himself 
more  and  more,  year  after  year,  as  he  found  himself 
comparatively  powerless  to  do  anything  for  the  hun 
dreds  of  Indians  that  he  would  fain  have  seen  gathered 
once  more,  as  of  old,  into  the  keeping  of  the  Church. 
He  had  made  frequent  visits  to  them  in  their  shifting 
refuges,  following  up  family  after  family,  band  after 
band,  that  he  knew ;  he  had  written  bootless  letter 
after  letter  to  the  Government  officials  of  one  sort  and 
another,  at  Washington.  He  had  made  equally  boot 
less  efforts  to  win  some  justice,  some  protection  for 
them,  from  officials  nearer  home  ;  he  had  endeavored 
to  stir  the  Church  itself  to  greater  efficiency  in  their 


RAMON  A.  313 

behalf.  Finally,  weary,  disheartened,  and  indignant 
with  that  intense,  suppressed  indignation  which  the 
poetic  temperament  alone  can  feel,  he  had  ceased,  — 
had  said,  "  It  is  of  no  use  ;  I  will  speak  no  word ;  I  am 
done ;  I  can  bear  no  more  ! "  and  settling  down  into 
the  routine  of  his  parochial  duties  to  the  little  Mexi 
can  and  Irish  congregation  of  his  charge  in  San  Diego, 
he  had  abandoned  all  effort  to  do  more  for  the  Indians 
than  visit  their  chief  settlements  once  or  twice  a  year, 
to  administer  the  sacraments.  When  fresh  outrages 
were  brought  to  his  notice,  he  paced  his  room,  plucked 
fiercely  at  his  black  beard,  with  ejaculations,  it  is  to  be 
feared, savoring  more  of  the  camp  than  the  altar;  but 
he  made  no  effort  to  do  anything.  Lighting  his  pipe, 
he  would  sit  down  on  the  old  bench  in  his  tile-paved 
veranda,  and  smoke  by  the  hour,  gazing  out  on  the 
placid  water  of  the  deserted  harbor,  brooding,  ever 
brooding,  over  the  wrongs  he  could  not  redress. 

A  few  paces  off  from  his  door  stood  the  just  begun 
walls  of  a  fine  brick  church,  which  it  had  been  the 
dream  and  pride  of  his  heart  to  see  builded,  and  full  of 
worshippers.  This,  too,  had  failed.  With  San  Diego's 
repeatedly  vanishing  hopes  and  dreams  of  prosperity 
had  gone  this  hope  and  dream  of  Father  Gaspara's.  It 
looked,  now,  as  if  it  would  be  indeed  a  waste  of  money 
to  build  a  costly  church  on  this  site.  Sentiment, 
however  sacred  and  loving  towards  the  dead,  must 
yield  to  the  demands  of  the  living.  To  build  a  church 
on  the  ground  where  Father  Junipero  first  trod  and 
labored,  would  be  a  work  to  which  no  Catholic  could 
be  indifferent ;  but  there  were  other  and  more  press 
ing  claims  to  be  met  first.  This  was  right.  Yet  the 
sight  of  these  silent  walls,  only  a  few  feet  high,  was 
a  sore  one  to  Father  Gaspara,  —  a  daily  cross,  which 
he  did  not  find  grow  lighter  as  he  paced  up  and  down 
his  veranda,  year  in  and  year  out,  in  the  balmy  winter 
and  cool  summer  of  that  mainc  climate. 


314  RAMON  A. 

"  Majella,  the  chapel  is  lighted ;  but  that  is  good  !  * 
exclaimed  Alessandro,  as  they  rode  into  the  silent 
plaza.  "  Father  Gaspara  must  be  there;"  and  jump 
ing  off  his  horse,  he  peered  in  at  the  uncurtained 
window.  "  A  marriage,  Majella,  —  a  marriage !  "  he 
cried,  hastily  returning.  "  Tliis,  too,  is  good  fortune. 
We  need  not  to  wait  long." 

When  the  sacristan  whispered  to  Father  Gaspara 
that  an  Indian  couple  had  just  come  in,  wishing  to  be 
married,  the  Father  frowned.  His  supper  was  waiting; 
he  had  been  out  all  day,  over  at  the  old  Mission  olive- 
orchard,  where  he  had  not  found  things  to  his  mind ; 
the  Indian  man  and  wife  whom  he  hired  to  take  care 
of  the  few  acres  the  Church  yet  owned  there  had 
been  neg]ecting  the  Church  lands  and  trees,  to  look 
after  their  own.  The  father  was  vexed,  tired,  and 
hungry,  and  the  expression  with  which  he  regarded 
Alessandro  and  Ramona,  as  they  came  towards  him, 
was  one  of  the  least  prepossessing  of  which  his  dark 
face  was  capable.  Ramona,  who  had  never  knelt  to  any 
priest  save  the  gentle  Father  Salvierderra,  and  who 
had  supposed  that  all  priests  must  look,  at  least, 
friendly,  was  shocked  at  the  sight  of  the  impatient 
visage  confronting  her.  But,  as  his  first  glance  fell 
on  Ramona,  Father  Gaspara's  expression  changed. 

"  What  is  all  this  ! "  he  thought ;  and  as  quick  as  he 
thought  it,  he  exclaimed,  in  a  severe  tone,  looking  at 
Ramona,  "  Woman,  are  you  an  Indian  ? " 

"  Yes,  Father,"  answered  Ramona,  gently.  "  My 
mother  was  an  Indian." 

"  Ah  !  half-breed  ! "  thought  Father  Gaspara.  "  It 
is  strange  how  sometimes  one  of  the  types  will  con 
quer,  and  sometimes  another  !  But  this  is  no  common 
creature  ; "  and  it  was  with  a  look  of  new  interest  and 
sympathy  on  his  face  that  he  proceeded  with  the 
ceremony,  —  the  other  couple,  a  middle-aged  Irish 
man,  with  his  more  than  middle-aged  bride,  standing 


RAMONA.  315 

quietly  by,  and  looking  on  with  a  vague  sort  of  won 
der  in  their  ugly,  impassive  faces,  as  if  it  struck  them 
oddly  that  Indians  should  marry. 

The  book  of  the  marriage-records  was  kept  in 
Father  Gaspara's  own  rooms,  locked  up  and  hidden 
even  from  his  old  housekeeper.  He  had  had  bitter 
reason  to  take  this  precaution.  It  had  been  for  more 
than  one  man's  interest  to  cut  leaves  out  of  this  old 
record,  which  dated  back  to  1769,  and  had  many 
pages  written  full  in  the  hand  of  Father  Junipevo 
himself. 

As  they  came  out  of  the  chapel,  Father  Gaspara 
leading  the  way,  the  Irish  couple  shambling  along 
shamefacedly  apart  from  each  other,  Alessandro,  still 
holding  Karnona's  hand  in  his,  said,  "  Will  you  ride, 
dear  ?  It  is  but  a  step." 

"  ISTo,  thanks,  dear  Alessandro,  I  would  rather  walk," 
she  replied ;  and  Alessandro  slipping  the  bridles  of  the 
two  horses  over  his  left  arm,  they  walked  on.  Father 
Gaspara  heard  the  question  and  answer,  and  was  still 
more  puzzled. 

"  He  speaks  as  a  gentleman  speaks  to  a  lady,"  he 
mused.  "  What  does  it  mean  ?  Who  are  they  ?  " 

Father  Gaspara  was  a  well-born  man,  and  in  his 
home  in  Spain  had  been  used  to  associations  far 
superior  to  any  which  he  had  known  in  his  Califor- 
nian  life.  A  gentle  courtesy  of  tone  and  speech,  such 
as  that  with  which  Alessandro  had  addressed  Ramona, 
was  not  often  heard  in  his  parish.  When  they  entered 
his  house,  he  again  regarded  them  both  attentively. 
Ilamona  wore  on  her  head  the  usual  black  shawl  of 
the  Mexican  women.  There  was  nothing  distinctive, 
to  the  Father's  eye,  in  her  iigure  or  face.  In  the  dim 
light  of  the  one  candle,  —  Father  Gaspara  allowed 
himself  no  luxuries,  —  the  exquisite  coloring  of  her 
skin  and  the  deep  blue  of  her  eyes  were  not  to  be 
seen.  Alessandro's  tall  fi-nire  and  dignified  bearing 


316  KAMONA. 

were  not  uncommon.  The  Father  had  seen  many  as 
fine-looking  Indian  men.  But  his  voice  was  remark 
able,  and  he  spoke  better  Spanish  than  was  wont  to 
be  heard  from  Indians. 

"  Where  are  you  from  ? "  said  the  Father,  as  he  held 
his  pen  poised  in  hand,  ready  to  write  their  names  in 
the  old  raw-hide-bound  book. 

"  Temecula,  Father,"  replied  Alessandro. 

Father  Gaspara  dropped  his  pen.  "  The  village  the 
Americans  drove  out  the  other  day  ?"  he  cried. 

"Yes,  Father." 

Father  Gaspara  sprang  from  his  chair,  took  refuge 
from  his  excitement,  as  usual,  in  pacing  the  floor. 
"  Go  !  go  !  I  'm  done  with  you  !  It 's  all  over,"  he 
said  fiercely  to  the  Irish  bride  and  groom,  who  had 
given  him  their  names  and  their  fee,  but  were  still 
hanging  about  irresolute,  not  knowing  if  all  were 
ended  or  not.  "  A  burning  shame !  The  most  das 
tardly  thing  I  have  seen  yet  in  this  land  forsaken  of 
God  ! "  cried  the  Father.  "  I  saw  the  particulars  of 
it  in  the  San  Diego  paper  yesterday."  Then,  coming 
to  a  halt  in  front  of  Alessandro,  he  exclaimed  :  "  The 
paper  said  that  the  Indians  were  compelled  to  pay  all 
the  costs  of  the  suit ;  that  the  sheriff  took  their  cattle 
to  do  it.  Was  that  true  ? " 

"  Yes,  Father,"  replied  Alessandro. 

The  Father  strode  up  and  down  again,  plucking  at 
his  beard.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  he  said. 
"  Where  have  you  all  gone  ?  There  were  two  hundred 
in  your  village  the  last  time  I  was  there." 

"  Some  have  gone  over  into  Pachanga,"  replied 
Alessandro,  "  some  to  San  Pasquale,  and  the  rest  to 
San  Bernardino." 

"  Body  of  Jesus !  man !  But  you  take  it  with 
philosophy  ! "  stormed  Father  Gaspara. 

Alessandro  did  not  understand  the  word  "  philoso 
phy,"  but  he  knew  what  the  Father  meant.  "  Yes, 


RAMONA.  317 

Father,"  he  said  doggedly.  "It  is  now  twenty-one 
days  ago.  I  was  not  so  at  first.  There  is  nothing 
to  be  done." 

Eamona  held  tight  to  Alessandro's  hand.  She  was 
afraid  of  this  fierce,  black-bearded  priest,  who  dashed 
back  and  forth,  pouring  out  angry  invectives. 

"  The  United  States  Government  will  suffer  for  it !  * 
he  continued.  "  It  is  a  Government  of  thieves  and 
robbers !  God  will  punish  them.  You  will  see ; 
they  will  be  visited  with  a  curse,  —  a  curse  in  their 
borders ;  their  sons  and  their  daughters  shall  be  deso 
late  !  But  why  do  I  prate  in  these  vain  words  ?  My 
son,  tell  me  your  names  again ; "  and  he  seated  him 
self  once  more  at  the  table  where  the  ancient  mar 
riage-record  lay  open. 

After  writing  Alessandro's  name,  he  turned  to 
Eamona.  "  And  the  woman's  ? "  he  said. 

Alessandro  looked  at  Eamona.  In  the  chapel  he 
had  said  simply,  "Majella."  What  name  should  he 
give  more  ? 

Without  a  second's  hesitation,  Eamona  answered, 
"  Majella.  Majella  Phail  is  my  name." 

She  pronounced  the  word  "  Phail,"  slowly.  It  was 
new  to  her.  She  had  never  seen  it  written ;  as  it 
lingered  on  her  lips,  the  Father,  to  whom  also  it  was 
a  new  word,  misunderstood  it,  took  it  to  be  in  two 
syllables,  and  so  wrote  it. 

The  last  step  was  taken  in  the  disappearance  of 
Eamona.  How  should  any  one,  searching  in  after 
years,  find  any  trace  of  Eamona  Ortegna,  in  the  woman 
married  under  the  name  of  "  Majella  Fayeel  "  ? 

"  No,  no  !  Put  up  your  money,  son,"  said  Father 
Gaspara,  as  Alessandro  began  to  undo  the  knots 
of  the  handkerchief  in  which  his  gold  was  tied. 
"  Put  up  your  money.  I  '11  take  no  money  from  a 
Temecula  Indian.  I  would  the  Church  had  money 
to  give  you.  Where  are  you  going  now  ? " 


318  RAMON  A. 

"To  San  Pasquale,  Father." 

"  Ah  !  San  Pasquale  !  The  head  man  there  has  the 
old  pueblo  paper,"  said  Father  Gaspara.  "  He  was 
showing  it  to  me  the  other  day.  That  will,  it  may 
be,  save  you  there.  But  do  not  trust  to  it,  son.  Buy 
yourself  a  piece  of  laud  as  the  white  man  buys  his. 
Trust  to  nothing." 

Alessandro  looked  anxiously  in  the  Father's  face. 
"  How  is  that,  Father  ? "  he  said.  "  I  do  not  know." 

"  Well,  their  rules  be  thick  as  the  crabs  here  on 
the  beach,"  replied  Father  Gaspara ;  "  and,  faith,  they 
appear  to  me  to  be  backwards  of  motion  also,  like 
the  crabs :  but  the  lawyers  understand.  When  you 
have  picked  out  your  land,  and  have  the  money,  come 
to  me,  and  I  will  go  with  you  and  see  that  you  are 
not  cheated  in  the  buying,  so  far  as  I  can  tell ;  but 
I  myself  arn  at  my  wit's  ends  with  their  devices. 
Farewell,  son  !  Farewell,  daughter  ! "  he  said,  rising 
from  his  chair.  Hunger  was  again  getting  the  better 
of  sympathy  in  Father  Gaspara,  and  as  he  sat  down 
to  his  long-deferred  supper,  the  Indian  couple  faded 
from  his  mind ;  but  after  supper  was  over,  as  he  sat 
smoking  his  pipe  on  the  veranda,  they  returned  again, 
and  lingered  in  his  thoughts,  —  lingered  strangely,  it 
seemed  to  him ;  he  could  not  shake  off  the  impres 
sion  that  there  was  something  unusual  about  the 
woman.  "  I  shall  hear  of  them  again,  some  day,"  he 
thought.  And  he  thought  rightly. 


XIX. 

A  FTER  leaving  Father  Gaspar'a's  door,  Alessandro 
_L\.  and  Earaona  rode  slowly  through  the  now  de 
serted  plaza,  and  turned  northward,  on  the  river  road, 
leaving  the  old  Presidio  walls  on  their  right.  The 
river  was  low,  and  they  forded  it  without  difficulty. 

"  I  have  seen  this  river  so  high  that  there  was  no 
fording  it  for  many  days,"  said  Alessandro  ;  "  but  that 
was  in  spring." 

"Then  it  is  well  we  came  not  at  that  time,"  said 
Ramona.  "  All  the  times  have  fallen  out  well  for  us, 
Alessandro,  — the  dark  nights,  and  the  streams  low  ; 
but  look !  as  I  say  it,  there  comes  the  moon ! "  and 
she  pointed  to  the  fine  threadlike  arc  of  the  new 
moon,  just  visible  in  the  sky.  "  Not  big  enough  to 
do  us  any  harm,  however,"  she  added.  "  But,  dear 
Alessandro,  do  you  not  think  we  are  safe  now  ?" 

"  I  know  not,  Majella,  if  ever  we  may  be  safe ;  but 
I  hope  so.  I  have  been  all  day  thinking  I  had  gone 
foolish  last  night,  when  I  told  Mrs.  Hartsel  that  I 
was  on  my  way  to  San  Pasquale.  But  if  men  should 
come  there  asking  for  us,  she  would  understand,  I 
think,  and  keep  a  still  tongue.  She  would  keep 
harm  from  us  if  she  could." 

Their  way  from  San  Diego  to  San  Pasquale  lay  at 
first  along  a  high  mesa,  or  table-land,  covered  with 
low  shrub  growths ;  after  some  ten  or  twelve  miles 
of  this,  they  descended  among  winding  ridges,  into 
a  narrow  valley,  —  the  Poway  valley.  It  was  here 
that  the  Mexicans  made  one  of  their  few  abortive 
efforts  to  repel  the  American  forces. 


320  RAMONA. 

"  Here  were  some  Americans  killed,  in  a  fight 
with  the  Mexicans,  Majella,"  said  Alessandro.  "  I 
myself  have  a  dozen  bullets  which  I  picked  up  in 
the  ground  about  here.  Many  a  time  I  have  looked 
at  them  and  thought  if  there  should  come  another 
war  against  the  Americans,  I  would  fire  them 
i  again,  if  I  could.  Does  Senor  Felipe  thinlf  there  is 
any  likelihood  that  his  people  will  rise  against  them 
any  more  ?  If  they  would,  they  would  have  all  the 
Indians  to  help  them,  now.  It  would  be  a  mercy  if 
they  might  be  driven  out  of  the  land,  Majella." 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Majella.  "  But  there  is  no  hope. 
I  have  heard  the  Senora  speak  of  it  with  Felipe. 
There  is  no  hope.  They  have  power,  and  great 
riches,  she  said.  Money  is  all  that  they  think  of. 
To  get  money,  they  will  commit  any  crime,  even 
murder.  Every  day  there  comes  the  news  of  their 
murdering  each  other  for  gold.  Mexicans  kill  each 
other  only  for  hate,  Alessandro,  —  for  hate,  or  in 
anger ;  never  for  gold." 

"  Indians,  also,"  replied  Alessandro.  "  Never  one 
Indian  killed  another,  yet,  for  money.  It  is  for 
vengeance,  always.  For  money  !  Bah !  Majella,  they 
are  dogs ! " 

Rarely  did  Alessandro  speak  with  such  vehemence  ; 
but  this  last  outrage  on  his  people  had  kindled  in  his 
veins  a  fire  of  scorn  and  hatred  which  would  never 
die  out.  Trust  in  an  American  was  henceforth  to 
him  impossible.  The  name  was  a  synonym  for  fraud 
and  cruelty. 

"  They  cannot  all  be  so  bad,  I  think,  Alessandro," 
said  Eamona.  "  There  must  be  some  that  are  honest ; 
do  you  not  think  so  ?  " 

"Where  are  they,  then,"  he  cried  fiercely,  —  "the 
ones  who  are  good  ?  Among  my  people  there  are 
always  some  that  are  bad ;  but  they  are  in  disgrace. 
My  father  punished  them,  the  whole  people  punished 


RAMON  A  321 

them.  If  there  are  Americans  who  are  good,  who 
will  not  cheat  and  kill,  why  do  they  not  send  after 
these  robbers  and  punish  them  ?  And  how  is  it  that 
they  make  laws  which  cheat  ?  It  was  the  American 
law  which  took  Temecula  away  from  us,  and  gave 
it  to  those  men !  The  law  was  on  the  side  of  the 
thieves.  No,  Majella,  it  is  a  people  that  steals ! 
That  is  their  name,  —  a  people  that  steals,  and  that 
kills  for  money.  Is  not  that  a  good  name  for  a  great 
people  to  bear,  wrhen  they  are  like  the  sands  in  the 
sea,  they  are  so  many  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  the  Senora  says,"  answered  Eamona. 
"  She  says  they  are  all  thieves ;  that  she  knows  not, 
each  day,  but  that  on  the  next  will  come  more  of 
them,  with  new  laws,  to  take  away  more  of  her  land. 
She  had  once  more  than  twice  what  she  has  now, 
Alessandro." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied ;  "  I  know  it.  My  father  has 
told  me.  He  was  with  Father  Peyri  at  the  place, 
when  General  Moreno  was  alive.  Then  all  was  his 
to  the  sea,  —  all  that  laud  we  rode  over  the  second 
night,  Majella." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  all  to  the  sea  !  That  is  what  the 
Senora  is  ever  saying  :  '  To  the  sea  ! '  Oh,  the  beau 
tiful  sea !  Can  we  behold  it  from  San  Pasquale, 
Alessandro  ? " 

"  No,  my  Majella,  it  is  too  far.  San  Pasquale  is  in  the 
valley;  it  has  hills  all  around  it  like  walls.  But  it  is 
good.  Majella  will  love  it ;  and  I  will  build  a  house, 
Majella.  All  the  people  will  help  me.  That  is  the 
way  with  our  people.  In  two  days  it  will  be  done. 
But  it  will  be  a  poor  place  for  my  Majella,"  he  said 
sadly.  Alessandro's  heart  was  ill  at  ease.  Truly  a 
strange  bride's  journey  was  this  ;  but  Ramona  felt  no 
fear. 

"  No  place  can  be  so  poor  that  I  do  not  choose  it, 
if  you  are  there,  rather  than  the  most  beautiful  place 

21 


322  RAMON  A. 

in  the  world  where  yon  are  not,  Alessandro,"  she 
said. 

"  But  my  Majella  loves  things  that  are  beautiful," 
said  Alessandro.  "  She  has  lived  like  a  queen." 

"  Oh,  Alessandro,"  merrily  laughed  Eamona,  "how 
little  you  know  of  the  way  queens  live !  Nothing 
was  fine  at  the  Seiiora  Moreno's,  only  comfortable ; 
and  any  house  you  will  build,  I  can  make  as  com 
fortable  as  that  was ;  it  is  nothing  but  trouble  to 
have  one  so  large  as  the  Senora's.  Margarita  used 
to  be  tired  to  death,  sweeping  all  those  rooms  in 
which  nobody  lived  except  the  blessed  old  San  Luis 
Bey  saints.  Alessandro,  if  we  could  have  had  just 
one  statue,  either  Saint  Francis  or  the  Madonna,  to 
bring  luck  to  our  house  !  That  is  what  I  would  like 
better  than  all  other  things  in  the  world.  It  is  beau 
tiful  to  sleep  with  the  Madonna  close  to  your  bed. 
She  speaks  often  to  you  in  dreams." 

Alessandro  fixed  serious,  questioning  eyes  on  Ra- 
moua  as  she  uttered  these  words.  When  she  spoke 
like  this,  he  felt  indeed  as  if  a  being  of  some  other 
sphere  had  come  to  dwell  by  his  side.  "  I  cannot 
find  how  to  feel  towards  the  saints  as  you  do,  my 
Majella,"  he  said.  "  I  am  afraid  of  them.  It  must 
be  because  they  love  you,  and  do  not  love  us.  That 
is  what  I  believe,  Majella.  I  believe  they  are  dis 
pleased  with  us,  and  no  longer  make  mention  of  us  in 
heaven.  That  is  what  the  Fathers  taught  that  the 
saiuts  were  ever  doing,  —  praying  to  God  for  us,  and 
to  the  Virgin  and  Jesus.  It  is  not  possible,  you  see, 
that  they  could  have  been  praying  for  us,  and  yet 
such  things  have  happened,  as  happened  in  Temecula. 
I  do  not  know  how  it  is  my  people  have  displeased 
them." 

"  I  think  Father  Salvierderra  would  say  that  it  is 
a  sin  to  be  afraid  of  the  saints,  Alessandro,"  replied 
liamona,  earnestly.  "  He  has  often  told  me  that  it 


RAMONA.  323 

was  a  sin  to  be  unhappy ;  and  that  withheld  me 
many  times  from  being  wretched  because  the  Seiiora 
would  not  love  me.  And,  Alessandro,"  she  went  on, 
growing  more  and  more  fervent  in  tone,  "  even  if  noth 
ing  but  misfortune  comes  to  people,  that  does  not 
prove  that  the  saints  do  not  love  them ;  for  when  the 
saints  were  on  earth  themselves,  look  what  they  suf 
fered  :  martyrs  they  were,  almost  all  of  them.  Look  at 
what  holy  Saint  Catharine  endured,  and  the  blessed 
Saint  Agnes.  It  is  not  by  what  happens  to  us  here 
in  this  world  that  we  can  tell  if  the  saints  love  us,  or 
if  we  will  see  the  Blessed  Virgin." 

"  How  can  we  tell,  then  ? "  he  asked. 

"  By  what  we  feel  in  our  hearts,  Alessandro,"  she 
replied;  "just  as  I  knew  all  the  time,  when  you  did 
not  come,  —  I  knew  that  you  loved  me.  I  knew  that 
in  my  heart ;  and  I  shall  always  know  it,  no  matter 
what  happens.  If  you  are  dead,  I  shall  know  that 
you  love  me.  And  you,  —  you  will  know  that  I  love 
you,  the  same." 

"  Yes,"  said  Alessandro,  reflectively,  "  that  is  true. 
But,  Majella,  it  is  not  possible  to  have  the  same 
thoughts  about  a  saint  as  about  a  person  that  one  has 
seen,  and  heard  the  voice,  and  touched  the  hand." 

"  No,  not  quite,"  said  Eamoua ;  "  not  quite,  about 
a  saint ;  but  one  can  for  the  Blessed  Virgin,  Alessan 
dro  !  I  am  sure  of  that.  Her  statue,  in  my  room  at 
the  Senora's,  has  been  always  my  mother.  Ever 
since  I  was  little  I  have  told  her  all  I  did.  It  was 
she  helped  me  to  plan  what  I  should  bring  away 
with  us.  She  reminded  me  of  many  things  I  had 
forgotten,  except  for  her." 

"  Did  you  hear  her  speak  ?  "  said  Alessandro,  awe- 
stricken. 

"  Not  exactly  in  words  ;  but  just  the  same  as  in 
words,"  replied  Ramona,  confidently.  "  You  see  when 
you  sleep  in  the  room  with  her,  it  is  very  different 


324  RAMON  A. 

from  what  it  is  if  you  only  see  her  in  a  chapel.  Oh, 
1  could  never  be  very  unhappy  with  her  in  my 
room  ! " 

"  I  would  almost  go  and  steal  it  for  you,  Majella," 
cried  Alessandro,  with  sacrilegious  warmth. 

"  Holy  Virgin  ! "  cried  Itamona,  "  never  speak  such 
a  word.  You  would  be  struck  dead  if  you  laid  your 
hand  on  her  !  I  fear  even  the  thought  was  a  sin." 

"  There  was  a  small  figure  of  her  in  the  wall  of 
our  house,"  said  Alessandro.  "  It  wras  from  San  Luis 
Eey.  I  do  not  know  what  became  of  it,  —  if  it  were 
left  behind,  or  if  they  took  it  with  my  father's  things 
to  Pachanga.  I  did  not  see  it  there.  When  I  go 
again,  I  will  look." 

"  Again  ! "  cried  Eamona.  "  What  say  you  ?  You 
go  again  to  Pachanga  ?  You  will  not  leave  me, 
Alessandro  ? " 

At  the  bare  mention  of  Alessandro's  leaving  her, 
Ramona's  courage  always  vanished.  In  a  moment,  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  she  was  transformed  from 
the  dauntless,  confident,  sunny  woman,  who  bore  him 
up  as  it  were  on  wings  of  hope  and  faith,  to  a  timid, 
shrinking,  despondent  child,  crying  out  in  alarm,  and 
clinging  to  the  hand. 

"  After  a  time,  dear  Majella,  when  you  are  wonted 
to  the  place,  I  must  go,  to  fetch  the  wagon  and  the 
few  things  that  were  ours.  There  is  the  raw-hide 
bed  which  was  Father  Peyri's,  and  he  gave  to  my 
father.  Majella  will  like  to  Lie  on  that.  My  father 
believed  it  had  great  virtue." 

"  Like  that  you  made  for  Felipe  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  not  so  large.  In  those  days  the 
cattle  were  not  so  large  as  they  are  now :  this  is  not 
so  broad  as  Senor  Felipe's.  There  are  chairs,  too,  from 
the  Mission,  three  of  them,  one  almost  as  fine  as  those 
on  your  veranda  at  home.  They  were  given  to  my 
father.  And  music-books,  —  beautiful  parchment 


RAMONA.  325 

books !  Oh,  I  hope  those  are  not  lost,  Majella !  If 
Jose  had  lived,  he  would  have  looked  after  it  all. 
But  in  the  confusion,  all  the  things  belonging  to  the 
village  were  thrown  into  wagons  together,  and  no 
one  knew  where  anything  was.  But  all  the  people 
knew  my  father's  chairs  and  the  books  of  the  music. 
If  the  Americans  did  not  steal  them,  everything  will 
be  safe.  My  people  do  not  steal.  There  was  never 
but  one  thief  in  our  village,  and  my  father  had  him 
so  whipped,  he  ran  away  and  never  came  back.  I 
heard  he  was  living  in  San  Jacinto,  and  was  a  thief 
yet,  spite  of  all  that  whipping  he  had.  I  think  if  it 
is  in  the  blood  to  be  a  thief,  not  even  whipping  will 
take  it  out,  Majella." 

"  Like  the  Americans,"  she  said,  half  laughing,  but 
with  tears  in  the  voice.  "  Whipping  would  not  cure 
them." 

It  wanted  yet  more  than  an  hour  of  dawn  when 
they  reached  the  crest  of  the  hill  from  which  they 
looked  down  on  the  San  Pasquale  valley.  Two  such 
crests  and  valleys  they  had  passed ;  this  was  the 
broadest  of  the  three  valleys,  and  the  hills  walling 
it  were  softer  and  rounder  of  contour  than  any  they 
had  yet  seen.  To  the  east  and  northeast  lay  ranges 
of  high  mountains,  their  tops  lost  in  the  clouds.  The 
whole  sky  was  overcast  and  gray. 

"  If  it  were  spring,  this  would  mean  rain,"  said 
Alessandro  ;  "  but  it  cannot  rain,  I  think,  now." 

"  No ! "  laughed  Ramona,  "  not  till  we  get  our 
house  done.  Will  it  be  of  adobe,  Alessandro  ? " 

"  Dearest  Majella,  not  yet !  At  first  it  must  be  of 
the  tule.  They  are  very  comfortable  while  it  is  warm, 
and  before  winter  I  will  build  one  of  adobe." 

"  Two  houses  !  Wasteful  Alessandro !  If  the  tule 
house  is  good,  I  shall  not  let  you,  Alessandro,  build 
another." 

Eamona's  mirthful  moments  bewildered  Alessandro. 


326  RAMONA. 

To  his  slower  temperament  and  saddened  nature  they 
seemed  preternatural ;  as  if  she  were  all  of  a  sudden 
changed  into  a  bird,  or  some  gay  creature  outside  the 
pale  of  human  life,  —  outside  and  above  it. 

"  You  speak  as  the  birds  sing,  my  Majella,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  It  was  well  to  name  you  Majel ;  only  the 
wood-dove  has  not  joy  in  her  voice,  as  you  have.  She 
says  only  that  she  loves  and  waits." 

"  I  say  that,  too,  Alessandro ! "  replied  Eamona, 
reaching  out  both  her  arms  towards  him. 

The  horses  were  walking  slowly,  and  very  close 
side  by  side.  Baba  and  Benito  were  now  such  friends 
they  liked  to  pace  closely  side  by  side  ;  and  Baba  and 
Benito  were  by  no  means  without  instinctive  recogni 
tions  of  the  sympathy  between  their  riders.  Already 
Benito  knew  Eamona's  voice,  and  answered  it  with 
pleasure ;  and  Baba  had  long  ago  learned  to  stop  when 
his  mistress  laid  her  hand  on  Alessandro's  shoulder. 
He  stopped  now,  and  it  was  long  minutes  before  he 
had  the  signal  to  go  on  again. 

"  Majella  !  Majella  !  "  cried  Alessandro,  as,  grasp 
ing  both  her  hands  in  his,  he  held  them  to  his  cheeks, 
to  his  neck,  to  his  mouth,  "  if  the  saints  would  ask 
Alessandro  to  be  a  martyr  for  Majella's  sake,  like 
those  she  was  telling  of,  then  she  would  know  if 
Alessandro  loved  her  !  But  what  can  Alessandro  do 
now  ?  What,  oh,  what  ?  Majella  gives  all ;  Ales 
sandro  gives  nothing ! "  and  he  bowed  his  forehead 
on  her  hands,  before  he  put  them  back  gently  on 
Baba's  neck. 

Tears  filled  Kamona's  eyes.  How  should  she  win 
this  saddened  man,  this  distrusting  lover,  to  the  joy 
which  was  his  desert  ?  "  Alessandro  can  do  one 
thing,"  she  said,  insensibly  falling  into  his  mode  of 
speaking,  —  "  one  thing  for  his  Majella :  never,  never, 
never  say  that  he  has  nothing  to  give  her.  When  he 
says  that,  he  makes  Majella  a  liar ;  for  she  has  said 


RAMONA.  327 

that  he  is  all  the  world  to  her,  —  he  himself  all  the 
world  which  she  desires.  Is  Majella  a  liar  ?  " 

But  it  was  even  now  with  an  ecstasy  only  half 
joy,  the  other  half  anguish,  that  Alessandro  replied : 
"Majella  cannot  lie.  Majella  is  like  the  saints. 
Alessandro  is  hers." 

When  they  rode  down  into  the  valley,  the  whole 
village  was  astir.  The  vintage-time  had  nearly  passed  ; 
everywhere  were  to  be  seen  large,  flat  baskets  of 
grapes  drying  in  the  sun.  Old  women  and  children 
were  turning  these,  or  pounding  acorns  in  the  deep 
stone  bowls ;  others  were  beating  the  yucca-stalks, 
and  putting  them  to  soak  in  water;  the  oldest  women 
were  sitting  on  the  ground,  weaving  baskets.  There 
were  not  many  men  in  the  village  now;  two  large 
bands  were  away  at  work,  —  one  at  the  autumn  sheep- 
shearing,  and  one  working  on  a  large  irrigating  ditch 
at  San  Bernardino. 

In  different  directions  from  the  village  slow-mov 
ing  herds  of  goats  or  of  cattle  could  be  seen,  being 
driven  to  pasture  on  the  hills ;  some  men  were 
ploughing ;  several  groups  were  at  work  building 
houses  of  bundles  of  the  tule  reeds. 

"  These  are  some  of  the  Temecula  people,"  said 
Alessandro;  "they  are  building  themselves  new  houses 
here.  See  those  piles  of  bundles  darker-colored  than 
the  rest.  Those  are  their  old  roofs  they  brought  from 
Temecula.  There,  there  comes  Ysidro ! "  he  cried 
joyfully,  as  a  man,  well-mounted,  who  had  been 
riding  from  point  to  point  in  the  village,  came 
galloping  towards  them.  As  soon  as  Ysidro  recog 
nized  Alessandro,  he  flung  himself  from  his  horse. 
Alessandro  did  the  same,  and  both  running  swiftly 
towards  each  other  till  they  met,  they  embraced 
silently.  Ramona,  riding  up,  held  out  her  hand, 
saying,  as  she  did  so,  "  Ysidro  ? " 

Pleased,  yet  surprised,  at  this  confident  and  assured 


828  RAMONA. 

greeting,  Ysidro  saluted  her,  and  turning  to  Alessan 
dro,  said  in  tbeir  own  tongue,  "  Who  is  this  woman 
whom  you  bring,  that  has  heard  my  name  ? " 

"  My  wife ! "  answered  Alessandro,  in  the  same 
tongue.  "  We  were  married  last  night  by  Father 
Gaspara.  She  comes  from  the  house  of  the  Senora 
Moreno.  We  will  live  in  San  Pasquale,  if  you  have 
land  for  me,  as  you  have  said." 

Whatever  astonishment  Ysidro  felt,  he  showed 
none.  Only  a  grave  and  courteous  welcome  was  in  his 
face  and  in  his  words  as  he  said,  "  It  is  well.  There 
is  room.  You  are  welcome."  But  when  he  heard  the 
soft  Spanish  syllables  in  which  Eamona  spoke  to 
Alessandro,  and  Alessandro,  translating  her  words 
to  him,  said,  "  Majel  speaks  only  in  the  Spanish 
tongue,  but  she  will  learn  ours,"  a  look  of  disquiet 
passed  over  his  countenance.  His  heart  feared  for 
Alessandro,  and  he  said,  "  Is  she,  then,  not  Indian  ? 
Whence  got  she  the  name  of  Majel  ?  " 

A  look  of  swift  intelligence  from  Alessandro  reas 
sured  him.  "  Indian  on  the  mother's  side  ! "  said 
Alessandro,  "  and  she  belongs  in  heart  to  our  people. 
She  is  alone,  save  for  me.  She  is  one  blessed  of 
the  Virgin,  Ysidro.  She  will  help  us.  The  name 
Majel  I  have  given  her,  for  she  is  like  the  wood- 
dove  ;  and  she  is  glad  to  lay  her  old  name  down  for 
ever,  to  bear  this  new  name  in  our  tono-ue." 

O 

And  this  was  Eamona's  introduction  to  the  Indian 
village,  —  this  and  her  smile ;  perhaps  the  smile  did 
most.  Even  the  little  children  were  not  afraid  of 
her.  The  women,  though  shy,  in  the  beginning,  at 
sight  of  her  noble  bearing,  and  her  clothes  of  a  kind 
and  quality  they  associated  only  with  superiors,  soon 
felt  her  friendliness,  and,  what  was  more,  saw  by  her 
every  word,  tone,  look,  that  she  was  Alessandro's.  If 
Alessandro's,  theirs.  She  was  one  of  them.  Eamona 
would  have  been  profoundly  impressed  and  touched, 


RAMONA.  329 

could  she  have  heard  them  speaking  among  them 
selves  about  her ;  wondering  how  it  had  come  about 
that  she,  so  beautiful,  and  nurtured  in  the  Moreno 
house,  of  which  they  all  knew,  should  be  Alessandro's 
loving  wife.  It  must  be,  they  thought  in  their  sim 
plicity,  that  the  saints  had  sent  it  as  an  omen  of  good 
to  the  Indian  people.  Toward  night  they  came, 
bringing  in  a  hand-barrow  the  most  aged  woman  in 
the  village  to  look  at  her.  She  wished  to 'see  the 
beautiful  stranger  before  the  sun  went  down,  they 
said,  because  she  was  now  so  old  she  believed  each 
night  that  before  morning  her  time  would  come  to 
die.  They  also  wished  to  hear  the  old  woman's  ver 
dict  on  her.  When  Alessaudro  saw  them  coming,  he 
understood,  and  made  haste  to  explain  it  to  Eamona. 
While  he  was  yet  speaking,  the  procession  arrived, 
and  the  aged  woman  in  her  strange  litter  was  placed 
silently  on  the  ground  in  front  of  Eamona,  who  was 
sitting  under  Ysidro's  great  fig-tree.  Those  who  had 
borne  her  withdrew,  and  seated  themselves  a  few 
paces  off.  Alessandro  spoke  first.  In  a  few  words 
he  told  the  old  woman  of  Eamona's  birth,  of  their 
marriage,  and  of  her  new  name  of  adoption ;  then 
he  said,  "  Take  her  hand,  dear  Majella,  if  you  feel  no 
fear." 

There  was  something  scarcely  human  in  the  shriv 
elled  arm  and  hand  outstretched  in  greeting;  but 
Eamona  took  it  in  hers  with  tender  reverence  :  "  Say 
to  her  for  me,  Alessandro,"  she  said,  "  that  I  bow 
down  to  her  great  age  with  reverence,  and  that  I  hope, 
if  it  is  the  will  of  God  that  I  live  on  the  earth  so  long 
as  she  has,  I  may  be  worthy  of  such  reverence  as 
these  people  all  feel  for  her." 

Alessandro  turned  a  grateful  look  on  Eamona  as 
he  translated  this  speech,  so  in  unison  with  Indian 
modes  of  thought  and  feeling.  A  murmur  of  pleasure 
rose  from  the  group  of  women  sitting  by.  The  aged 


330  RAMONA. 

woman  made  no  reply ;  her  eyes  still  studied  Ramo- 
na's  face,  and  she  still  held  her  hand. 

"  Tell  her,"  continued  Ramona,  "  that  I  ask  if  there 
is  anything  I  can  do  for  her.  Say  I  will  be  her 
daughter  if  she  will  let  me." 

"It  must  be  the  Virgin  herself  that  is  teaching 
Majella  what  to  say,"  thought  Alessandro,  as  he 
repeated  this  in  the  San  Luiseno  tongue. 

Again  the  women  murmured  pleasure,  but  the  old 
woman  spoke  not.  "  And  say  that  you  will  be  her 
son,"  added  Ramona. 

Alessandro  said  it.  It  was  perhaps  for  this  that 
the  old  woman  had  waited.  Lifting  up  her  arm,  like 
a  sibyl,  she  said :  "  It  is  well ;  I  am  your  mother.  The 
winds  of  the  valley  shall  love  you,  and  the  grass  shall 
dance  when  you  come.  The  daughter  looks  on  her 
mother's  face  each  day.  I  will  go  ;  "  and  making  a 
sign  to  her  bearers,  she  was  lifted,  and  carried  to  her 
house. 

The  scene  affected  Ramona  deeply.  The  simplest 
acts  of  these  people  seemed  to  her  marvellously  pro 
found  in  their  meanings.  She  was  not  herself  suffi 
ciently  educated  or  versed  in  life  to  know  why  she 
was  so  moved,  —  to  know  that  such  utterances,  such 
symbolisms  as  these,  among  primitive  peoples,  are 
thus  impressive  because  they  are  truly  and  grandly 
dramatic ;  but  she  was  none  the  less  stirred  by 
them,  because  she  could  not  analyze  or  explain 
them. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  her  every  day,"  she  said  ;  "  she 
shall  be  like  my  mother,  whom  I  never  saw." 

"We  must  both  go  each  day,"  said  Alessandro. 
"  What  we  have  said  is  a  solemn  promise  among  my 
people  ;  it  would  not  be  possible  to  break  it." 

Ysidro's  home  was  in  the  centre  of  the  village, 
on  a  slightly  rising  ground  ;  it  was  a  picturesque 
group  of  four  small  houses,  three  of  tule  reeds  and 


RAMON  A.  331 

one  of  adobe,  —  the  latter  a  comfortable  little  house 
of  two  rooms,  with  a  floor  and  a  shingled  roof,  both 
luxuries  in  San  Pasquale.  The  great  lig-tree,  whose 
luxuriance  and  size  were  noted  far  and  near  through 
out  the  country,  stood  half-way  down  the  slope ;  but 
its  boughs  shaded  all  three  of  the  tule  houses.  On 
one  of  its  lower  branches  was  fastened  a  dove-cote, 
ingeniously  made  of  willow  wands,  plastered  with 
adobe,  and  containing  so  many  rooms  that  the  whole 
tree  seemed  sometimes  a-flutter  with  doves  and  dove- 
lings.  Here  and  there,  between  the  houses,  were  huge 
basket,  larger  than  barrels,  woven  of  twigs,  as  the 
eagle  weaves  its  nest,  only  tighter  and  thicker. 
These  were  the  outdoor  granaries ;  in  these  were  kept 
acorns,  barley,  wheat,  and  corn.  Eamona  thought 
them,  as  well  she  might,  the  prettiest  things  she  ever 
saw. 

"  Are  they  hard  to  make  ? "  she  asked.  "  Can  you 
make  them,  Alessandro  ?  I  shall  want  many." 

"  All  you  want,  my  Majella,"  replied  Alessandro. 
"  We  will  go  together  to  get  the  twigs ;  I  can,  I  dare 
say,  buy  some  in  the  village.  It  is  only  two  days  to 
make  a  large  one." 

"  No.  Do  not  buy  one,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  wish 
everything  in  our  house  to  be  made  by  ourselves." 
In  which,  again,  Ramona  was  unconsciously  striking 
one  of  the  keynotes  of  pleasure  in  the  primitive  har 
monies  of  existence. 

The  tule  house  which  stood  nearest  to  the  dove 
cote  was,  by  a  lucky  chance,  now  empty,  Ysidro's 
brother  Ramon,  who  had  occupied  it,  having  gone 
with  his  wife  and  baby  to  San  Bernardino,  for  the 
winter,  to  work ;  this  house  Ysidro  was  but  too 
happy  to  give  to  Alessandro  till  his  own  should  be 
done.  It  was  a  tiny  place,  though  it  was  really  two 
houses  joined  together  by  a  roofed  passage-way.  In  this 
passage-way  the  tidy  Juana,  Ramon's  wife,  kept  her 


332  RAMONA. 

few  pots  and  pans,  and  a  small  stove.  It  looked  to 
Eamona  like  a  baby-house.  Timidly  Alessandro  said : 
"  Can  Majella  live  in  this  small  place  for  a  time  ?  It 
will  not  be  very  long;  there  are  adobes  already  made." 

His  countenance  cleared  as  Eamona  replied  glee 
fully,  "I  think  it  will  be  very  comfortable,  and  I 
'  shall  feel  as  if  we  were  all  doves  together  in  the  dove 
cote  ! " 

"Majel !"  exclaimed  Alessandro;  and  that  was  all 
he  said. 

Only  a  few  rods  off  stood  the  little  chapel ;  in 
front  of  it  swung  on  a  cross-bar  from  two  slanting 
posts  an  old  bronze  bell  which  had  once  belonged 
to  the  San  Diego  Mission.  When  Eamona  read  the 
date,  "  1790,"  on  its  side,  arid  heard  that  it  was  from 
the  San  Diego  Mission  church  it  had  come,  she 
felt  a  sense  of  protection  in  its  presence. 

"  Think,  Alessaudro,"  she  said  ;  "this  bell,  no  doubt, 
has  rung  many  times  for  the  mass  for  the  holy 
Father  Junipero  himself.  It  is  a  blessing  to  the 
village.  I  want  to  live  where  I  can  see  it  all  the 
time.  It  will  be  like  a  saint's  statue  in  the  house." 

With  every  allusion  that  Eamona  made  to  the 
saints'  statues,  Alessandro's  desire  to  procure  one  for 
her  deepened.  He  said  nothing ;  but  he  revolved  it 
in  his  mind  continually.  He  had  once  gone  with  his 
shearers  to  San  Fernando,  and  there  he  had  seen  in  a 
room  of  the  old  Mission  buildings  a  dozen  statues 
of  saints  huddled  in  dusty  confusion.  The  San  Fer 
nando  church  was  in  crumbled  ruins,  and  such  of 
the  church  properties  as  were  left  there  were  in  the 
keeping  of  a  Mexican  not  over-careful,  and  not  in 
the  least  devout.  It  would  not  trouble  him  to  part 
with  a  saint  or  two,  Alessandro  thought,  and  no 
irreverence  to  the  saint  either ;  on  the  contrary,  the 
greatest  of  reverence,  since  the  statue  was  to  be  taken 
from  a  place  where  no  one  cared  for  it,  and  brought 


RAMONA.  333 

into  one  where  it  would  be  tenderly  cherished,  and 
worshipped  every  day.  If  only  San  Fernando  were 
not  so  far  away,  and  the  wooden  saints  so  heavy  ! 
However,  it  should  come  about  yet.  Majella  should 
have  a  saint ;  nor  distance  nor  difficulty  should  keep 
Alessandro  from  procuring  for  his  Majel  the  few 
things  that  lay  within  his  power.  But  he  held  his 
peace  about  it.  It  would  be  a  sweeter  gift,  if  she 
did  not  know  it  beforehand.  He  pleased  himself  as 
subtly  and  secretly  as  if  he  had  come  of  civilized 
generations,  thinking  how  her  eyes  would  dilate,  if 
she  waked  up  some  morning  and  sawr  the  saint  by  her 
bedside ;  and  how  sure  she  would  be  to  think,  at  first, 
it  was  a  miracle, — his  dear,  devout  Majella,  who,  with 
all  her  superior  knowledge,  was  yet  more  credulous 
than  he.  All  her  education  had  not  taught  her  to 
think,  as  he,  untaught,  had  learned,  in  his  solitude 
with  nature. 

Before  Alessandro  had  been  two  days  in  San  Pas- 
quale,  he  had  heard  of  a  piece  of  good-fortune  which 
almost  passed  his  belief,  and  which  startled  him  for 
once  out  of  his  usual  impassive  demeanor. 

"  You  know  I  have  a  herd  of  cattle  of  your  father's, 
and  near  a  hundred  sheep  ? "  said  Ysidro. 

"  Holy  Virgin  ! "  cried  Alessandro,  "  you  do  not 
mean  that !  How  is  that  ?  They  told  me  all  our 
stock  was  taken  by  the  Americans." 

"  Yes,  so  it  was,  all  that  was  in  Temecula,"  replied 
Ysidro  ;  "  but  in  the  spring  your  father  sent  down 
to  know  if  I  would  take  a  herd  for  him  up  into  the 
mountains,  with  ours,  as  he  feared  the  Temecula 
pasture  would  fall  short,  and  the  people  there,  who 
could  not  leave,  must  have  their  cattle  near  home ; 
so  he  sent  a  herd  over,  —  I  think,  near  fifty  head ;  and 
many  of  the  cows  have  calved  ;  and  he  sent,  also, 
a  little  flock  of  sheep,  —  a  hundred,  Ramon  said ; 
he  herded  them  with  ours  all  summer,  and  he  left  a 


334  RAMONA. 

man  up  there  with  them.  They  will  be  down  next 
week.  It  is  time  they  were  sheared." 

Before  he  had  finished  speaking,  Alessandro  had 
vanished,  bounding  like  a  deer.  Ysidro  stared  after 
him ;  but  seeing  him  enter  the  doorway  of  the  little 
tule  hut,  he  understood,  and  a  sad  smile  passed 
over  his  face.  He  was  not  yet  persuaded  that  this 
marriage  of  Alessaudro's  would  turn  out  a  bless 
ing.  "What  are  a  handful  of  sheep  to  her!"  he 
thought. 

Breathless,  panting,  Alessandro  burst  into  Eamona's 
presence.  "  Majella  !  my  Majella  !  There  are  cattle 
—  and  sheep,"  he  cried.  "  The  saints  be  praised ! 
We  are  not  like  the  beggars,  as  I  said." 

"I  told  you  that  God  would  give  us  food,  dear 
Alessaudro,"  replied  Kamona,  gently. 

"  You  do  not  wonder !  You  do  not  ask ! "  he 
cried,  astonished  at  her  calm.  "  Does  Majella  think 
that  a  sheep  or  a  steer  can  come  down  from  the 
skies  ? " 

"  Nay,  not  as  our  eyes  would  see,"  she  answered ; 
"  but  the  holy  ones  who  live  in  the  skies  can  do  any 
thing  they  like  on  the  earth.  Whence  came  these 
cattle,  and  how  are  they  ours  ? " 

When  he  told  her,  her  face  grew  solemn.  "Do 
you  remember  that  night  in  the  willows,"  she  said, 
"  when  I  was  like  one  dying,  because  you  would  not 
bring  me  with  you  ?  You  had  no  faith  that  there 
would  be  food.  And  I  told  you  then  that  the  saints 
never  forsook  those  who  loved  them,  and  that  God 
would  give  food.  And  even  at  that  moment,  when 
you  did  not  know  it,  there  were  your  cattle  and  your 
sheep  feeding  in  the  mountains,  in  the  keeping  of 
God  !  Will  my  Alessandro  believe  after  this  ? "  and 
she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Alessandro.  "  I  will  believe,  after 
this,  that  the  saints  love  my  Majella." 


RAMONA.  335 

But  as  he  walked  at  a  slower  pace  back  to  Ysidro, 
he  said  to  himself:  "  Majella  did  not  see  Temecula. 
What  would  she  have  said  about  the  saints,  if  she 
had  seen  that,  and  seen  the  people  dying  for  want  of 
food  ?  It  is  only  for  her  that  the  saints  pray.  They 
are  displeased  with  my  people." 


XX. 

ONE  year,  and  a  half  of  another  year,  had  passed. 
Sheep-shearings  and  vintages  had  been  in  San 
Pasquale ;  and  Alessandro's  new  house,  having  been 
beaten  on  by  the  heavy  spring  rains,  looked  no 
longer  new.  It  stood  on  the  south  side  of  the 
valley, — too  far,  Eamona  felt,  from  the  blessed  bell; 
but  there  had  not  been  land  enough  for  wheat-fields 
any  nearer,  and  she  could  see  the  chapel,  and  the 
posts,  and,  on  a  clear  day,  the  bell  itself.  The  house 
was  small.  "  Small  to  hold  so  much  joy,"  she  said, 
when  Alessandro  first  led  her  to  it,  and  said,  depre- 
catingly,  "  It  is  small,  Majella,  —  too  small ;  "  and  he 
recollected  bitterly,  as  he  spoke,  the  size  of  Eamona's 
own  room  at  the  Senora's  house.  "  Too  small,"  he 
repeated. 

"  Very  small  to  hold  so  much  joy,  my  Alessandro," 
she  laughed  ;  "  but  quite  large  enough  to  hold  two 
persons." 

It  looked  like  a  palace  to  the  San  Pasquale  people, 
after  Eamona  had  arranged  their  little  possessions  in 
it;  and  she  herself  felt  rich  as  she  looked  around  her 
two  small  rooms.  The  old  San  Luis  Eey  chairs  and 
the  raw-hide  bedstead  were  there,  and,  most  precious 
of  all,  the  statuette  of  the  Madonna.  For  this  Ales 
sandro  had  built  a  niche  in  the  wall,  between  the 
:head  of  the  bed  and  the  one  window.  The  niche 
was  deep  enough  to  hold  small  pots  in  front  of  the 
statuette  ;  and  Eamona  kept  constantly  growing  there 
wild-cucumber  plants,  which  wreathed  and  re- wreathed 
the  niche  till  it  looked  like  a  bower.  Below  it  hung 
her  gold  rosary  and  the  ivory  Christ;  and  many  a 


RAMONA.  337 

woman  of  the  village,  when  she  came  to  see  Ramona, 
asked  permission  to  go  into  the  bedroom  and  say  her 
prayers  there ;  so  that  it  finally  came  to  be  a  sort  of 
shrine  for  the  whole  village. 

A  broad  veranda,  as  broad  as  the  Senora's,  ran 
across  the  front  of  the  little  house.  This  was  the 
only  thing  for  which  Ramona  had  asked.  She  could 
not  quite  fancy  life  without  a  veranda,  and  linnets  in 
the  thatch.  But  the  linnets  had  not  yet  come.  In 
vain  Ramona  strewed  food  for  them,  and  laid  little 
trains  of  crumbs  to  lure  them  inside  the  posts  ;  they 
would  not  build  nests  inside.  It  was  not  their  way 
in  San  Pasquale.  They  lived  in  the  canons,  but  this 
part  of  the  valley  was  too  bare  of  trees  for  them. 
"  In  a  year  or  two  more,  when  we  have  orchards,  they 
will  come,"  Alessandro  said. 

With  the  money  from  that  first  sheep-shearing, 
and  from  the  sale  of  part  of  his  cattle,  Alessandro 
had  bought  all  he  needed  in  the  way  of  farming 
implements,  —  a  good  wagon  and  harnesses,  and  a 
plough.  Baba  and  Benito,  at  first  restive  and  indig 
nant,  soon  made  up  their  minds  to  work.  Ramona 
had  talked  to  Baba  about  it  as  she  would  have  talked 
to  a  brother.  In  fact,  except  for  Ramona's  help,  it 
would  have  been  a  question  whether  even  Alessandro 
could  have  made  Baba  work  in  harness.  "  Good 
Baba ! "  Ramona  said,  as  she  slipped  piece  after  piece 
of  the  harness  over  his  neck,  —  "  Good  Baba,  you  must 
help  us ;  we  have  so  much  work  to  do,  and  you  are 
so  strong!  Good  Baba,  do  you  love  me?"  and  with 
one  hand  in  his  mane,  and  her  cheek,  every  few  steps, 
laid  close  to  his,  she  led  Baba  up  and  down  the  first 
'  furrows  he  ploughed. 

"  My  Seiiorita ! "  thought  Alessandro  to  himself, 
half  in  pain,  half  in  pride,  as,  running  behind  with 
the  unevenly  jerked  plough,  he  watched  her  laughing 
face  and  blowing  hair,  —  "  my  Seiiorita!" 


338  RAMONA. 

But  Ramona  would  not  run  with  her  hand  in 
Baba's  mane  this  winter.  There  was  a  new  work  for 
her,  indoors.  In  a  rustic  cradle,  which  Alessandro 
had  made,  under  her  directions,  of  the  woven  twigs, 
like  the  great  outdoor  acorn-granaries,  only  closer ^ 
woven,  and  of  an  oval  shape,  and  lifted  from  the  floor . 
by  four  uprights  of  red  manzanita  stems,  —  in  this 
cradle,  on  soft  white  wool  fleeces,  covered  with  white 
homespun  blankets,  lay  Eamoua's  baby,  six  months 
old,  lusty,  strong,  and  beautiful,  as  only  children  born 
of  great  love  and  under  healthful  conditions  can  be. 
This  child  was  a  girl,  to  Alessandro's  delight ;  to 
Eamona's  regret,  —  so  far  as  a  loving  mother  can 
feel  regret  connected  with  her  first-born.  Eamona 
had  wished  for  an  Alessandro ;  but  the  disappointed 
wish  faded  out  of  her  thoughts,  hour  by  hour,  as  she 
gazed  into  her  baby -girl's  blue  eyes,  —  eyes  so  blue 
that  their  color  was  the  first  thing  noticed  by  each 
person  who  looked  at  her. 

"  Eyes  of  the  sky,"  exclaimed  Ysidro,  when  he  first 
saw  her. 

"  Like  the  mother's,"  said  Alessandro ;  on  which 
Ysidro  turned  an  astonished  look  upon  Ramona, 
and  saw  for  the  first  time  that  her  eyes,  too,  were 
blue. 

"  Wonderful ! "  he  said.  "  It  is  so.  I  never  saw  it;" 
and  he  wondered  in  his  heart  what  father  it  had  been, 
who  had  given  eyes  like  those  to  one  born  of  an 
Indian  mother. 

"  Eyes  of  the  sky,"  became  at  once  the  baby's 
name  in  the  village;  and  Alessandro  and  Ramona, 
before  they  knew  it,  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  so 
calling  her.  But  when  it  came  to  the  christening, 
they  demurred.  The  news  was  brought  to  the  village, 
one  Saturday,  that  Father  Gaspara  would  hold  ser 
vices  in  the  valley  the  next  day,  and  that  he  wished 
all  the  new-born  babes  to  be  brought  for  christening. 


RAM  ON  A.  339 

into  the  night,  Alessandro  and  Ramona  sat  by 
their  sleeping  baby  and  discussed  what  should  be  her 
name,  Ramona  wondered  that  Alessaudro  did  not 
wish  to  name  her  Majella. 

"  No  !  Never  but  one  Majella,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
which  gave  Ramona  a  sense  of  vague  fear,  it  was  so 
solemn. 

They  discussed  "  Ramona,"  "  Isabella."  Alessan 
dro  suggested  Carmena.  This  had  been  his  mother's 
name. 

At  the  mention  of  it  Ramona  shuddered,  recollect 
ing  the  scene  in  the  Temecula  graveyard.  "  Oh,  no, 
no!  Not  that!"  she  cried.  "  It  is  ill-fated;"  and 
Alessandro  blamed  himself  for  having  forgotten  her 
only  association  with  the  name. 

At  last  Alessandro  said :  "  The  people  have  named 
her,  I  think,  Majella.  Whatever  name  we  give  her 
in  the  chapel,  she  will  never  be  called  anything  but 
'  Eyes  of  the  Sky,'  in  the  village." 

"  Let  that  name  be  her  true  one,  then,"  said  Ra 
mona.  And  so  it  was  settled ;  and  when  Father 
Gaspara  took  the  little  one  in  his  arms,  and  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  on  her  brow,  he  pronounced  with 
some  difficulty  the  syllables  of  the  Indian  name, 
which  meant  "  Blue  Eyes,"  or  "  Eyes  of  the  Sky." 

Heretofore,  when  Father  Gaspara  had  come  to  San 
Pasquale  to  say  mass,  he  had  slept  at  Lomax's,  the 
store  and  post-office,  six  miles  away,  in  the  Bernardo 
valley.  But  Ysidro,  with  great  pride,  had  this  time 
ridden  to  meet  him,  to  say  that  his  cousin  Alessan 
dro,  who  had  come  to  live  in  the  valley,  and  had  a 
good  new  adobe  house,  begged  that  the  Father  would 
do  him  the  honor  to  stay  with  him. 

"And  indeed,  Father,"  added  Ysidro,  "you  will 
be  far  better  lodged  and  fed  than  in  the  house  of 
Lomax.  My  cousin's  wife  knows  well  how  all  should 
be  done." 


340  RAMONA. 

"  Alessandro  !  Alessandro  !  "  said  the  Father,  mus 
ingly.  "  Has  he  been  long  married  ? " 

"No,  Father/'  answered  Ysidro.  "But  little  more 
than  two  years.  They  were  married  by  you,  on  their 
way  from  Temecula  here." 

"  Ay,  ay  !  I  remember,"  said  Father  Gaspara.  "  I 
will  come ; "  and  it  was  with  no  small  interest  that 
he  looked  forward  to  meeting  again  the  couple  that 
had  so  strongly  impressed  him. 

Eamona  was  full  of  eager  interest  in  her  preparations 
for  entertaining  the  priest.  This  was  like  the  olden 
time  ;  and  as  she  busied  herself  with  her  cooking  and 
other  arrangements,  the  thought  of  Father  Salvier- 
derra  was  much  in  her  mind.  She  could,  perhaps, 
hear  news  of  him  from  Father  Gaspara.  It  was  she 
who  had  suggested  the  idea  to  Alessandro  ;  and  when 
he  said,  "  But  where  will  you  sleep  yourself,  with  the 
child,  Majella,  if  we  give  our  room  to  the  Father  ?  I 
can  lie  on  the  floor  outside  ;  but  you  ? "  —  "I  will  go 
to  Ysidro's,  and  sleep  with  Juana,"  she  replied.  "  For 
two  nights,  it  is  no  matter ;  and  it  is  such  shame  to 
have  the  Father  sleep  in  the  house  of  an  American, 
when  we  have  a  good  bed  like  this ! " 

Seldom  in  his  life  had  Alessandro  experienced 
such  a  sense  of  gratification  as  he  did  when  he  led 
Father  Gaspara  into  his  and  Eamona's  bedroom. 
The  clean  whitewashed  walls,  the  bed  neatly  made, 
with  broad  lace  on  sheets  and  pillows,  hung  with  cur 
tains  and  a  canopy  of  bright  red  calico,  the  old  carved 
chairs,  the  Madonna  shrine  in  its  bower  of  green 
leaves,  the  shelves  on  the  walls,  the  white-curtained 
window,  —  all  made  up  a  picture  such  as  Father 
Gaspara  had  never  before  seen  in  his  pilgrimages 
atnoug  the  Indian  villages.  He  could  not  restrain 
an  ejaculation  of  surprise.  Then  his  eye  falling  on 
the  golden  rosary,  he  exclaimed,  "  Where  got  you 
that  ? " 


RAMON  A.  341 

"  It  is  my  wife's,"  replied  Alessandro,  proudly.  "  It 
was  given  to  her  by  Father  Salvierderra." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  the  Father.  "  He  died  the  other  day." 
"  Dead  !  Father  Salvierderra  dead  !  "  cried  Ales 
sandro.  "  That  will  be  a  terrible  blow.  Oh,  Father, 
I  implore  you  not  to  speak  of  it  in  her  presence.  She 
must  not  know  it  till  after  the  christening.  It  will 
make  her  heart  heavy,  so  that  she  will  have  no 

joy." 

Father  Gaspara  was  still  scrutinizing  the  rosary 
and  crucifix.  "  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  he  said  ab 
sently  ;  "  I  will  say  nothing  of  it ;  but  this  is  a  work 
of  art,  this  crucifix  ;  do  you  know  what  you  have 
here  ?  And  this,  —  is  this  not  an  altar-cloth  ? "  he 
added,  lifting  up  the  beautiful  wrought  altar-cloth, 
which  Eamona,  in  honor  of  his  coming,  had  pinned  on 
the  wall  below  the  Madonna's  shrine. 

"  Yes,  Father,  it  was  made  for  that.  My  wife  made 
it.  It  was  to  be  a  present  to  Father  Salvierderra ; 
but  she  has  not  seen  him,  to  give  it  to  him.  It  will 
take  the  light  out  of  the  sun  for  her,  when  first  she 
hears  that  he  is  dead." 

Father  Gaspara  was  about  to  ask  another  question, 
when  Eamona  appeared  in  the  doorway,  flushed  with 
running.  She  had  carried  the  baby  over  to  Juana's 
and  left  her  there,  that  she  might  be  free  to  serve  the 
Father's  supper. 

"  I  pray  you  tell  her  not,"  said  Alessandro,  under 
his  breath ;  but  it  was  too  late.  Seeing  the  Father 
with  her  rosary  in  his  hand,  Eamona  exclaimed  :  — 

"  That,  Father,  is  my  most  sacred  possession.  It 
once  belonged  to  Father  Peyri,  of  San  Luis  Key,  and 
he  gave  it  to  Father  Salvierderra,  who  gave  it  to  me. 
Know  you  Father  Salvierderra  ?  I  was  hoping  to 
hear  news  of  him  through  you." 

"  Yes,  I  knew  him,  —  not  very  well ;  it  is  long  since 
I  saw  him,"  stammered  Father  Gaspara.  His  hesi- 


342  RAMONA. 

tancy  alone  would  not  have  told  Ramona  the  truth  ; 
she  would  have  set  that  down  to  the  secular  priest's 
indifference,  or  hostility,  to  the  Franciscan  order ;  but 
looking  at  Alessandro,  she  saw  terror  and  sadness  on 
his  face.  No  shadow  there  ever  escaped  her  eye. 
"  What  is  it,  Alessandro  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Is  it 
something  about  Father  Salvierderra  ?  Is  he  ill  ? " 

Alessandro  shook  his  head.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  Looking  from  one  to  the  other,  seeing 
the  confused  pain  in  both  their  faces,  Ramona,  lay 
ing  both  her  hands  on  her  breast,  in  the  expressive 
gesture  she  had  learned  from  the  Indian  women, 
cried  out  in  a  piteous  tone :  "  You  will  not  tell  me ! 
You  do  not  speak  !  Then  he  is  dead  ! "  and  she  sank 
on  her  knees. 

"Yes,  my  daughter,  he  is  dead,"  said  Father  Gas- 
para,  more  tenderly  than  that  brusque  and  warlike 
priest  often  spoke.  "  He  died  a  month  ago,  at  Santa 
Barbara.  I  am  grieved  to  have  brought  you  tidings 
to  give  you  such  sorrow.  But  you  must  not  mourn 
for  him.  He  was  very  feeble,  and  he  longed  to  die, 
I  heard.  He  could  no  longer  work,  and  he  did  not 
wish  to  live." 

Ramona  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  The 
Father's  words  were  only  a  confused  sound  in  her 
ears.  She  had  heard  nothing  after  the  words,  "  a 
month  ago."  She  remained  silent  and  motionless  for 
some  moments ;  then  rising,  without  speaking  a  word, 
or  looking  at  either  of  the  men,  she  crossed  the  room 
and  knelt  down  before  the  Madonna.  By  a  common 
impulse,  both  Alessandro  and  Father  Gaspara  silently 
left  the  room.  As  they  stood  together  outside  the 
door>  the  Father  said,  "  I  would  go  back  to  Lomax's 
if  it  were  not  so  late.  I  like  not  to  be  here  when  your 
wife  is  in  such  grief." 

"  That  would  but  be  another  grief,  Father,"  said 
Alessandro.  "  She  has  been  full  of  happiness  in 


RAMON  A.  343 

making  ready  for  you.  She  is  very  strong  of  soul. 
It  is  she  who  makes  me  strong  often,  and  not  I  who 
give  strength  to  her." 

"  My  faith,  but  the  man  is  right,"  thought  Father 
Gaspara,  a  half-hour  later,  when,  with  a  calm  face, 
Piarnona  summoned  them  to  supper.  He  did  not 
'  know,  as  Alessandro  did,  how  that  face  had  changed  in 
the  half-hour.  It  wore  a  look  Alessandro  had  never 
seen  upon  it.  Almost  he  dreaded  to  speak  to  her. 

When  he  walked  by  her  side,  later  in  the  evening, 
as  she  went  across  the  valley  to  Fernando's  house, 
he  ventured  to  mention  Father  Salvierderra's  name. 
Earaona  laid  her  hand  on  his  lips.  "  I  cannot  talk 
about  him  yet,  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  never  believed  that 
he  would  die  without  giving  us  his  blessing.  Do  not 
speak  of  him  till  to-morrow  is  over." 

Eamona's  saddened  face  smote  on  all  the  women's 
hearts  as  they  met  her  the  next  morning.  One  by 
one  they  gazed,  astonished,  then  turned  away,  and 
spoke  softly  among  themselves.  They  all  loved  her, 
and  half  revered  her  too,  for  her  great  kindness,  and 
readiness  to  teach  and  to  help  them.  She  had  been 
like  a  sort  of  missionary  in  the  valley  ever  since  she 
came,  and  no  one  had  ever  seen  her  face  without  a 
smile.  Now  she  smiled  not.  Yet  there  was  the 
beautiful  baby  in  its  white  dress,  ready  to  be  chris 
tened  ;  and  the  sun  shone,  and  the  bell  had  been  ring 
ing  for  half  an  hour,  and  from  every  corner  of  the 
valley  the  people  were  gathering,  and  Father  Gaspara, 
in  his  gold  and  green  cassock,  was  praying  before  the 
altar ;  it  was  a  joyous  day  in  San  Pasquale.  Why 
did  Alessandro  and  Eamona  kneel  apart  in  a  corner, 
with  such  heart-stricken  countenances,  not  even 
looking  glad  when  their  baby  laughed,  and  reached 
up  her  hands  ?  Gradually  it  was  whispered  about 
what  had  happened.  Some  one  had  got  it  from  An 
tonio,  of  Temecula,  Alessandro's  friend.  Then  all  tho 


344  RAMONA. 

women's  faces  grew  sad  too.  They  all  had  heard  of 
Father  Salvierderra,  and  many  of  them  had  prayed  to 
the  ivory  Christ  in  Ramona's  room,  and  knew  that 
he  had  given  it  to  her. 

As  Kamoua  passed  out  of  the  chapel,  some  of  them 
came  up  to  her,  and  taking  her  hand  in  theirs,  laid  it 
on  their  hearts,  speaking  no  word.  The  gesture  was 
more  than  any  speech  could  have  been. 

When  Father  Gaspara  was  taking  leave,  Ramona 
said,  with  quivering  lips,  "Father,  if  there  is  any 
thing  you  know  of  Father  Salvierderra's  last  hours, 
I  would  be  grateful  to  you  for  telling  me." 

"  I  heard  very  little,"  replied  the  Father,  "  except 
that  he  had  been  feeble  for  some  weeks;  yet  he 
would  persist  in  spending  most  of  the  night  kneeling 
on  the  stone  floor  in  the  church,  praying." 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Eamona ;  "  that  he  always 
did." 

"  And  the  last  morning,"  continued  the  Father, "  the 
Brothers  found  him  there,  still  kneeling  on  the  stone 
floor,  but  quite  powerless  to  move;  and  they  lifted 
him,  and  carried  him  to  his  room,  and  there  they 
found,  to  their  horror,  that  he  had  had  no  bed ;  he  had 
lain  on  the  stones ;  and  then  they  took  him  to  the 
Superior's  own  room,  and  laid  him  in  the  bed,  and  he 
did  not  speak  any  more,  and  at  noon  he  died." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Father,"  said  Eamona, 
without  lifting  her  eyes  from  the  ground  ;  and  in  the 
same  low,  tremulous  tone,  "  I  am  glad  that  I  know 
that  he  is  dead." 

"  Strange  what  a  hold  those  Franciscans  got  on 
these  Indians ! "  mused  Father  Gaspara,  as  he  rode 
down  the  valley.  "  There 's  none  of  them  would  look 
like  that  if  I  were  dead,  I  warrant  me !  There," 
he  exclaimed,  "  I  meant  to  have  asked  Alessandro 
who  this  wife  of  his  is  !  I  don't  believe  she  is  a 
Ternecula  Indian.  Next  time  I  come,  I  will  find  out. 


RAMONA.  345 

She 's  had  some  schooling  somewhere,  that  'a  plain. 
She's  quite  superior  to  the  general  run  of  them. 
Next  time  I  come,  I  will  find  out  ahout  her." 

"  Next  time ! "  In  what  calendar  are  kept  the 
records  of  those  next  times  which  never  come  ?  Long 
before  Father  Gaspara  visited  San  Pasquale  again, 
Alessaiidro  and  Eamona  were  far  away,  and  strangers 
were  living  in  their  home. 

It  seemed  to  Ramona  in  after  years,  as  she  looked 
back  over  this  life,  that  the  news  of  Father  Salvier- 
derra's  death  was  the  first  note  of  the  knell  of  their 
happiness.  It  was  but  a  few  days  afterward,  when 
Alessaiidro  came  in  one  noon  with  an  expression  on 
his  face  that  terrified  her ;  seating  himself  in  a  chair, 
he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  would  neither 
look  up  nor  speak  ;  not  until  Ramona  was  near  crying 
from  his  silence,  did  he  utter  a  word.  Then,  looking 
at  her  with  a  ghastly  face,  he  said  in  a  hollow  voice, 
"  It  has  begun  !"  and  buried  his  face  again.  Finally 
Kamona's  tears  wrung  from  him  the  following  story  : 

Ysidro,  it  seemed,  had  the  previous  year  rented 
a  canon,  at  the  head  of  the  valley,  to  one  Doctor 
Morong.  It  was  simply  as  bee-pasture  that  the 
Doctor  wanted  it,  he  said.  He  put  his  hives  there, 
and  built  a  sort  of  hut  for  the  man  whom  he  sent 
up  to  look  after  the  honey.  Ysidro  did  not  need 
the  land,  and  thought  it  a  good  chance  to  make  a 
little  money.  He  had  taken  every  precaution  to 
make  the  transaction  a  safe  one ;  had  gone  to  San 
Diego,  and  got  Fatber  Gaspara  to  act  as  interpreter  for 
him,  in  the  interview  with  Morong ;  it  had  been  a 
written  agreement,  and  the  rent  agreed  upon  had  been 
punctually  paid.  Now,  the  time  of  the  lease  having 
expired,  Ysidro  had  been  to  San  Diego  to  ask  the 
Doctor  if  he  wished  to  renew  it  for  another  year  ;  and 
the  Doctor  had  said  that  the  land  was  his,  and  he  was 
coming  out  there  to  build  a  house,  and  live. 


346  RAMONA. 

Ysidro  had  gone  to  Father  Gaspara  for  help,  and 
Father  Gaspara  had  had  an  angry  interview  with 
Doctor  Morong  ;  but  it  had  done  no  good.  The  Doctor 
said  the  land  did  not  belong  to  Ysidro  at  all,  but  to 
the  United  States  Government ;  and  that  lie  had  paid 
the  money  for  it  to  the  agents  in  Los  Angeles,  and 
there  would  very  soon  come  papers  from  Washington, 
to  show  that  it  was  his.  Father  Gaspara  had  gone 
with  Ysidro  to  a  lawyer  in  San  Diego,  and  had 
shown  to  this  lawyer  Ysidro's  paper,  —  the  old  one 
from  the  Mexican  Governor  of  California,  establishing 
the  pueblo  of  San  Pasquale,  and  saying  how  many 
leagues  of  land  the  Indians  were  to  have;  but  the 
lawyer  had  only  laughed  at  Father  Gaspara  for 
believing  that  such  a  paper  as  that  was  good  for 
anything.  He  said  that  was  all  very  well  when  the 
country  belonged  to  Mexico,  but  it  was  no  good  now  ; 
that  the  Americans  owned  it  now;  and  everything 
was  done  by  the  American  law  now,  not  by  the 
Mexican  law  any  more. 

"  Then  we  do  not  own  any  land  in  San  Pasquale  at 
all,"  said  Ysidro.  "  Is  that  what  it  means  ?  " 

And  the  lawyer  had  said,  he  did  not  know  hew  it 
would  be  with  the  cultivated  land,  and  the  village  where 
the  houses  were,  —  he  could  not  tell  about  that ;  but 
he  thought  it  all  belonged  to  the  men  at  Washington. 

Father  Gaspara  was  in  such  rage,  Ysidro  said,  that 
he  tore  open  his  gown  on  his  breast,  and  he  smote 
himself,  and  he  said  he  wished  he  were  a  soldier,  and 
no  priest,  that  he  might  fight  this  accursed  United 
States  Government ;  and  the  lawyer  laughed  at  him, 
and  told  him  to  look  after  souls,  —  that  was  his  busi 
ness, —  and  let  the  Indian  beggars  alone !  "Yes,  that 
was  what  he  said,  —  '  the  Indian  beggars  ! '  and  so 
they  would  be  all  beggars,  presently." 

Alessandro  told  this  by  gasps,  as  it  were ;  at  long 
intervals.  His  voice  was  choked ;  his  whole  frame 


RAMONA.  347 

shook.     He  was  nearly  beside  himself  with  rage  and 
despair. 

"  You  see,  it  is  as  I  said,  Majella.  There  is  no 
place  safe.  We  can  do  nothing !  We  might  better  be 
dead ! " 

"  It  is  a  long  way  off,  that  canon  Doctor  Morong  had," 
said  liamona,  piteously.  "  It  would  n't  do  any  harm, 
his  living  there,  if  no  more  came." 

"  Majella  talks  like  a  dove,  and  not  like  a  woman," 
said  Alessandro,  fiercely.  "  Will  there  be  one  to  come, 
and  not  two  ?  It  is  the  beginning.  To-morrow  may 
come  ten  more,  with  papers  to  show  that  the  land  is 
theirs.  We  can  do  nothing,  any  more  than  the  wild 
beasts.  They  are  better  than  we." 

From  this  day  Alessandro  was  a  changed  man. 
Hope  had  died  in  his  bosom.  In  all  the  village  coun 
cils,  —  and  they  were  many  and  long  now,  for  the  little 
community  had  been  plunged  into  great  anxiety  and 
distress  by  this  Doctor  Morong's  affair,  —  Alessandro 
sat  dumb  and  gloomy.  To  whatever  was  proposed, 
he  had  but  one  reply:  "It  is  of  no  use.  We  can 
do  nothing." 

"  Eat  your  dinners  to-day,  to-morrow  we  starve,"  he 
said  one  night,  bitterly,  as  the  council  broke  up.  When 
Ysidro  proposed  to  him  that  they  should  journey 
to  Los  Angeles,  where  Father  Gaspara  had  said  the 
headquarters  of  the  Government  officers  were,  and 
where  they  could  learn  all  about  the  new  laws  in 
regard  to  land,  Alessandro  laughed  at  him. .  "  What 
more  is  it,  then,  which  you  wish  to  know,  my 
brother,  about  the  American  laws  ?  "  he  said.  "  Is 
it  not  enough  that  you  know  they  have  made  a  law 
which  will  take  the  land  from  Indians ;  from  us  who 
have  owned  it  longer  than  any  can  remember ;  land 
that  our  ancestors  are  buried  in,  —  will  take  that  land 
and  give  it  to  themselves,  and  say  it  is  theirs  ?  Is 
it  to  hear  this  again  said  in  your  face,  and  to  see 


348  RAMONA. 

the  man  laugh  who  says  it,  like  the  lawyer  in  San 
Diego,  that  you  will  journey  to  Los  Angeles  ?  I  will 
not  go ! " 

And  Ysidro  went  alone.  Father  Gaspara  gave  him 
a  letter  to  the  Los  Angeles  priest,  who  went  with 
him  to  the  land-office,  patiently  interpreted  for  him 
all  he  had  to  say,  and  as  patiently  interpreted  all 
that  the  officials  had  to  say  in  reply.  They  did  not 
laugh,  as  Alessandro  in  his  bitterness  had  said.  They 
were  not  inhuman,  and  they  felt  sincere  sympathy  for 
this  man,  representative  of  two  hundred  hard- working, 
industrious  people,  in  danger  of  being  turned  out  of 
house  and  home.  But  they  were  very  busy ;  they 
had  to  say  curtly,  and  in  few  words,  all  there  was  to 
be  said :  the  San  Pasquale  district  was  certainly  the 
property  of  the  United  States  Government,  and  the 
lands  were  in  market,  to  be  filed  on,  and  bought,  ac 
cording  to  the  homestead  laws.  These  officials  had 
neither  authority  nor  option  in  the  matter.  They 
were  there  simply  to  carry  out  instructions,  and  obey 
orders. 

Ysidro  understood  the  substance  of  all  this,  though 
the  details  were  beyond  his  comprehension.  But 
he  did  not  regret  having  taken  the  journey ;  he  had 
now  made  his  last  effort  for  his  people.  The  Los 
Angeles  priest  had  promised  that  he  would  himself 
write  a  letter  to  Washington,  to  lay  the  case  before 
the  head  men  there,  and  perhaps  something  would 
be  done-  for  their  relief.  It  seemed  incredible  to 
Ysidro,  as,  riding  along  day  after  day,  on  his  sad  home 
ward  journey,  he  reflected  on  the  subject,  —  it  seemed 
i  ncredible  to  him  that  the  Government  would  permit 
such  a  village  as  theirs  to  be  destroyed.  He  reached 
home  just  at  sunset ;  and  looking  down,  as  Alessandro 
and  Ramona  had  done  on  the  morning  of  their  arrival, 
from  the  hill-crests  at  the  west  end  of  the  valley,  see 
ing  the  broad  belt  of  cultivated  fields  and  orchards,  the 


RAMONA.  349 

peaceful  little  hamlet  of  houses,  he  groaned.  "  If  the 
people  who  make  these  laws  could  only  see  this  vil 
lage,  they  would  never  turn  us  out,  never !  They 
can't  know  what  is  being  done.  I  am  sure  they  can't 
know." 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ? "  cried  Alessandro,  gallop 
ing  up  on  Benito,  and  reining  him  in  so  sharply 
he  reared  and  plunged.  "  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  I  saw 
by  your  face,  many  paces  back,  that  you  had  come  as 
you  went,  or  worse  !  I  have  been  watching  for  you 
these  two  days.  Another  American  has  come  in  with 
Morong  in  the  canon ;  they  are  making  corrals ;  they 
will  keep  stock.  You  will  see  how  long  we  have 
any  pasture-lands  in  that  end  of  the  valley.  I  drive 
all  my  stock  to  San  Diego  next  week.  I  will  sell  it 
for  what  it  will  bring, —  both  the  cattle  and  the  sheep. 
It  is  no  use.  You  will  see." 

When  Ysidro  began  to  recount  his  interview 
with  the  land-office  authorities,  Alessandro  broke 
in  fiercely :  "  I  wish  to  hear  no  more  of  it.  Their 
names  and  their  speech  are  like  smoke  in  my  eyes 
and  my  nose.  I  think  I  shall  go  mad,  Ysidro.  Go 
tell  your  story  to  the  men  who  are  waiting  to  hear 
it,  and  who  yet  believe  that  an  American  may  speak 
truth ! " 

Alessandro  was  as  good  as  his  word.  The  very 
next  week  he  drove  all  his  cattle  and  sheep  to  San 
Diego,  and  sold  them  at  great  loss.  "  It  is  bettei 
than  nothing,"  he  said.  "  They  will  not  now  be 
sold  by  the  sheriff,  like  my  father's  in  Temecula." 
The  money  he  got,  he  took  to  Father  Gaspara. 
"  Father,"  he  said  huskily,  "  I  have  sold  all  my 
stock.  I  would  not  wait  for  the  Americans  to  sell 
it  for  me,  and  take  the  money.  I  have  not  got 
much,  but  it  is  better  than  nothing.  It  will  make 
that  we  do  not  starve  for  one  year.  Will  you  keep 
it  for  me,  Father  ?  I  dare  not  have  it  in  San 


350  RAMON  A. 

Pasquale.  San  Pasquale  will  be  like  Temecula, —  it 
may  be  to-morrow." 

To  the  Father's  suggestion  that  he  should  put  the 
money  in  a  bank  in  San  Diego,  Alessaudro  cried  •. 
"  Sooner  would  I  throw  it  in  the  sea  yonder  !  1 
trust  no  man,  henceforth  ;  only  the  Church  I  will 
trust.  Keep  it  tor  me,  Father,  I  pray  you ; "  and  the 
Father  could  not  refuse  his  imploring  tone. 

"  What  are  your  plans  now  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Plans  !  "  repeated  Alessandro,  —  "  plans,  Father  ! 
Why  should  I  make  plans  ?  I  will  stay  in  my  house 
so  long  as  the  Americans  will  let  me.  You  saw  our 
little  house,  Father  ! "  His  voice  broke  as  he  said 
this.  "  I  have  large  wheat-fields ;  if  I  can  get  one 
more  crop  off  them,  it  will  be  something ;  but  my 
land  is  of  the  richest  in  the  valley,  and  as  soon 
as  the  Americans  see  it,  they  will  want  it.  Fare 
well,  Father.  I  thank  you  for  keeping  my  money, 
and  for  all  you  said  to  the  thief  Morong.  Ysidro 
told  me.  Farewell."  And  he  was  gone,  and  out  of 
sight  on  the  swift  galloping  Benito,  before  Father 
Gaspara  bethought  himself. 

"  And  I  remembered  not  to  ask  who  his  wife  was. 
I  will  look  back  at  the  record,"  said  the  Father. 
Taking  down  the  old  volume,  he  ran  his  eye  back 
over  the  year.  Marriages  were  not  so  many  in 
Father  Gaspara's  parish,  that  the  list  took  long  to 
read.  The  entry  of  Alessandro's  marriage  was  blotted. 
The  Father  had  been  in  haste  that  night.  "  Ales 
sandro  Assis.  Majella  Fa —  No  more  could  be 
read.  The  name  meant  nothing  to  Father  Gaspara. 
"Clearly  an  Indian  name,"  he  said  to  himself;  "yet 
she  seemed  superior  in  every  way.  I  wonder  where 
she  got  it." 

The  winter  wore  along  quietly  in  San  Pasquale. 
The  delicious  soft  rains  set  in  early,  promising  a 
good  grain  year.  It  seemed  a  pity  not  to  get  in  as 


RAMONA.  351 

much  wheat  as  possible;  and  all  the  San  Pasquale 
people  went  early  to  ploughing  new  fields,  —  all  but 
Alessandro. 

"  If  I  reap  all  I  have,  I  will  thank  the  saints,"  he 
said.  "  I  will  plough  no  more  land  for  the  robbers." 
But  after  his  fields  were  all  planted,  and  the  benefi 
cent  rains  still  kept  on,  and  the  hills  all  along  the 
valley  wall  began  to  turn  green  earlier  than  ever 
before  was  known,  he  said  to  Kamona  one  morning, 
"  I  think  I  will  make  one  more  field  of  wheat. 
There  will  be  a  great  yield  this  year.  Maybe  we 
will  be  left  unmolested  till  the  harvest  is  over." 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  for  many  more  harvests,  dear  Ales 
sandro  !  "  said  Kamona,  cheerily.  "  You  are  always 
looking  on  the  black  side." 

"  There  is  no  other  but  the  black  side,  Majella," 
he  replied.  "  Strain  my  eyes  as  I  may,  on  all  sides 
all  is  black.  You  will  see.  Never  any  more  har 
vests  in  San  Pasquale  for  us,  after  this.  If  we  get 
this,  we  are  lucky.  I  have  seen  the  white  men 
riding  up  and  down  in  the  valley,  and  I  found  some 
of  their  cursed  bits  of  wood  with  figures  on  them  set 
up  on  my  land  the  other  day  ;  and  I  pulled  them 
up  and  burned  them  to  ashes.  But  I  will  plough  one 
more  field  this  week ;  though,  I  know  not  why  it  is, 
my  thoughts  go  against  it  even  now.  But  I  will 
do  it ;  and  I  will  not  come  home  till  night,  Majella, 
for  the  field  is  too  far  to  go  and  come  twice.  I  shall 
be  the  whole  day  ploughing."  So  saying,  he  stooped 
and  kissed  the  baby,  and  then  kissing  Kamona,  went 
out. 

Eamona  stood  at  the  door  and  watched  him  as  he 
harnessed  Benito  and  Baba  to  the  plough.  He  did 
not  once  look  back  at  her ;  his  face  seemed  full  of 
thought,  his  hands  acting  as  it  were  mechanically. 
After  he  had  gone  a  few  rods  from  the  house,  he 
stopped,  stood  still  for  some  minutes  meditating, 


352  RAMONA. 

then  went  on  irresolutely,  halted  again,  but  nnall}r 
went  on,  and  disappeared  from  sight  among  the  low 
foot-hills  to  the  east.  Sighing  deeply,  Ramona  turned 
back  to  her  work.  But  her  heart  was  too  disquieted. 
She  could  not  keep  back  the  tears. 

"How  changed  is  Alessandro  ! "  she  thought.  "It 
terrifies  me  to  see  him  thus.  I  will  tell  the  Blessed 
Virgin  about  it ; "  and  kneeling  before  the  shrine, 
she  prayed  fervently  and  long.  She  rose  comforted, 
and  drawing  the  baby's  cradle  out  into  the  veranda, 
seated  herself  at  her  embroidery.  Her  skill  with  her 
needle  had  proved  a  not  inconsiderable  source  of 
income,  her  fine  lace- work  being  always  taken  by  San 
Diego  merchants,  and  at  fairly  good  prices. 

It  seemed  to  her  only  a  short  time  that  she  had 
been  sitting  thus,  when,  glancing  up  at  the  sun,  she 
saw  it  was  near  noon ;  at  the  same  moment  she  saw 
Alessandro  approaching,  with  the  horses.  In  dis 
may,  she  thought,  "  There  is  no  dinner  !  He  said  he 
would  not  come ! "  and  springing  up,  was  about  to 
run  to  meet  him,  when  she  observed  that  he  was  not 
alone.  A  short,  thick-set  man  was  walking  by  his 
side;  they  were  talking  earnestly.  It  was  a  white 
man.  What  did  it  bode  ?  Presently  they  stopped. 
She  saw  Alessandro  lift  his  hand  and  point  to  the 
house,  then  to  the  tule  sheds  in  the  rear.  He  seemed 
to  be  talking  excitedly ;  the  white  man  also ;  they 
were  both  speaking  at  once.  Ramona  shivered  with 
fear.  Motionless  she  stood,  straining  eye  and  ear ; 
she  could  hear  nothing,  but  the  gestures  told  much. 
Had  it  come,  —  the  thing  Alessandro  had  said  would 
.come?  Were  they  to  be  driven  out,  —  driven  out 
this  very  day,  when  the  Virgin  had  only  just  now 
seemed  to  promise  her  help  and  protection  ? 

The  baby  stirred,  waked,  began  to  cry.  Catching 
the  child  up  to  her  breast,  she  stilled  her  by  convul 
sive  caresses.  Clasping  her  tight  in  her  arms,  she 


EAMONA.  353 

walked  a  few  steps  towards  Alessandro,  who,  seeing 
her,  made  an  imperative  gesture  to  her  to  return. 
Sick  at  heart,  she  went  back  to  the  veranda  and  sat 
down  to  wait. 

In  a  few  moments  she  saw  the  white  man  count 
ing  out  money  into  Alessandro's  hand ;  then  he  turned 
and  walked  away,  Alessaudro  still  standing  as  if  rooted 
to  the  spot,  gazing  into  the  palm  of  his  hand,  Benito 
and  Baba  slowly  walking  away  from  him  unnoticed ; 
at  last  he  seemed  to  rouse  himself  as  from  a  trance, 
and  picking  up  the  horses'  reins,  came  slowly  toward 
her.  Again  she  started  to  meet  him  ;  again  he  made 
the  same  authoritative  gesture  to  her  to  return ; 
and  again  she  seated  herself,  trembling  in  every  nerve 
of  her  body.  Eamona  was  now  sometimes  afraid  of 
Alessandro.  When  these  fierce  glooms  seized  him, 
she  dreaded,  she  knew  not  what.  He  seemed  no 
more  the  Alessandro  she  had  loved. 

Deliberately,  lingeringly,  he  unharnessed  the  horses 
and  put  them  in  the  corral.  Then  still  more  deliber 
ately,  lingeringly,  he  walked  to  the  house ;  walked, 
without  speaking,  past  Eamona,  into  the  door.  A 
lurid  spot  on  each  cheek  showed  burning  red  through 
the  bronze  of  his  skin.  His  eyes  glittered.  In 
silence  Ramona  followed  him,  and  saw  him  draw 
from  his  pocket  a  handful  of  gold-pieces,  fling  them 
on  the  table,  and  burst  into  a  laugh  more  terrible 
than  any  weeping,  —  a  laugh  which  wrung  from  her 
instantly,  involuntarily,  the  cry,  "  Oh,  my  Alessandro ! 
my  Alessandro  !  What  is  it  ?  Are  you  mad  ? " 

"  No,  my  sweet  Majel,"  he  exclaimed,  turning  to 
her,  and  flinging  his  arms  round  her  and  the  child 
together,  drawing  them  so  close  to  his  breast  that  the 
embrace  hurt,  —  "  no,  I  am  not  mad  ;  but  I  think  1 
shall  soon  be  !  What  is  that  gold  ?  The  price  of  this 
house,  Majel,  and  of  the  fields,  —  of  all  that  was  ours 
in  San  Pasquale !  To-morrow  we  will  go  out  into 

23 


354  RAMONA. 

the  world  again.     I  will  see  if  I  can  find  a  place  the 
Americans  do  not  want ! " 

It  did  not  take  many  words  to  tell  the  story 
Alessandro  had  not  been  ploughing  more  than  an 
hour,  when,  hearing  a  strange  sound,  he  looked  up 
and  saw  a  man  unloading  lumber  a  few  rods  off. 
Alessandro  stopped  midway  in  the  furrow  and 
watched  him.  The  man  also  watched  Alessandro. 
Presently  he  came  toward  him,  and  said  roughly, 
"  Look  here !  Be  off,  will  you  ?  This  is  my  land. 
I'm  going  to  build  a  house  here." 

Alessandro  had  replied,  "  This  was  my  land  yester 
day.  How  comes  it  yours  to-day  ? " 

Something  in  the  wording  of  this  answer,  or  some 
thing  in  Alessandro's  tone  and  bearing,  smote  the 
man's  conscience,  or  heart,  or  what  stood  to  him  in 
the  place  of  conscience  and  heart,  and  he  said  :  "  Come, 
now,  my  good  fellow,  you  look  like  a  reasonable  kind 
of  a  fellow ;  you  just  clear  out,  will  you,  and  not 
make  me  any  trouble.  You  see  the  land  's  mine.  I  've 
got  all  this  land  round  here :"  and  he  waved  his  arm, 
describing  a  circle  ;  "  three  hundred  and  twenty 
acres,  me  and  my  brother  together,  and  we  're  coming 
in  here  to  settle.  We  got  our  papers  from  Washing 
ton  last  week.  It 's  all  right,  and  you  may  just  as 
well  go  peaceably,  as  make  a  fuss  about  it.  Don't 
you  see  ? " 

Yes,  Alessandro  saw.  He  had  been  seeing  this 
precise  thing  for  months.  Many  times,  in  his  dreams 
and  in  his  waking  thoughts,  he  had  lived  over  scenes 
similar  to  this.  An  almost  preternatural  calm  and 
wisdom  seemed  to  be  given  him  now. 

"  Yes,  I  see,  Senor,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not  surprised. 
I  knew  it  would  come ;  but  I  hoped  it  would  not  be 
till  after  harvest.  I  will  not  give  you  any  trouble, 
Senor,  because  I  cannot.  If  I  could,  I  would.  But 
I  have  heard  all  about  the  new  law  which  gives  all 


RAMONA.  355 

the  Indians'  lands  to  the  Americans.  We  cannot 
help  ourselves.  But  it  is  very  hard,  Seiior."  He 
paused. 

The  man,  confused  and  embarrassed,  astonished 
beyond  expression  at  being  met  in  this  way  by  an 
Indian,  did  not  find  words  come  ready  to  his  tongue. 
"  Of  course,  I  know  it  does  seem  a  little  rough  on 
fellows  like  you,  that  are  industrious,  and  have  done 
some  work  on  the  land.  But  you  see  the  land  's  in 
the  market ;  I  've  paid  my  money  for  it." 

"  The  Senor  is  going  to  build  a  house  ? "  asked 
Alessandro. 

"  Yes/'  the  man  answered.  "  I  've  got  my  family 
in  San  Diego,  and  I  want  to  get  them  settled  as 
soon  as  I  can.  My  wife  won't  feel  comfortable  till 
she 's  in  her  own  house.  We  're  from  the  States, 
and  she's  been  used  to  having  everything  comfort 
able." 

"  I  have  a  wife  and  child,  Senor,"  said  Alessandro, 
still  in  the  same  calm,  deliberate  tone ;  "  and  we 
have  a  very  good  house  of  two  rooms.  It  would  save 
the  Senor's  building,  if  he  would  buy  mine." 

"  How  far  is  it  ?  "  said  the  man.  "  I  can 't  tell  ex 
actly  where  the  boundaries  of  my  land  are,  for  the 
stakes  we  set  have  been  pulled  up." 

"  Yes,  Senor,  I  pulled  them  up  and  burned  them. 
They  were  on  my  land,"  replied  Alessandro.  "  My 
house  is  farther  west  than  your  stakes ;  and  I  have 
large  wheat-fields  there,  too,  —  many  acres,  Senor,  all 
planted." 

Here  was  a  chance,  indeed.  The  man's  eyes 
gleamed.  He  would  do  the  handsome  thing.  He 
would  give  this  fellow  something  for  his  house  and 
wheat-crops.  First  he  would  see  the  house,  however  ; 
and  it  was  for  that  purpose  he  had  walked  back  with 
Alessandro.  When  he  saw  the  neat  whitewashed 
adobe,  with  its  broad  veranda,  the  sheds  and  corrals 


356  RAMONA. 

all  in  good  order,  he  instantly  resolved  to  get  posses 
sion  of  them  by  lair  means  or  foul. 

"There  will  be  three  hundred  dollars'  worth  of 
wheat  in  July,  Senor,  you  can  see  for  yourself  ;  and  a\ 
house  so  good  as  that,  you  cannot  build  for  less  than 
one  hundred  dollars.  What  will  you  give  me  for 
them  ? " 

"  I  suppose  I  can  have  them  without  paying  you 
for  them,  if  I  choose,"  said  the  man,  insolently. 

"  No,  Senor,"  replied  Alessandro. 

"  What 's  to  hinder,  then,  I  'd  like  to  know  ! "  in  a 
brutal  sneer.  "You  have  n't  got  any  rights  here, 
whatever,  according  to  law." 

"I  shall  hinder,  Senor,"  replied  Alessandro.  "I 
shall  burn  down  the  sheds  and  corrals,  tear  down  the 
house  ;  and  before  a  blade  of  the  wheat  is  reaped,  I 
will  burn  that."  Still  in  the  same  calm  tone. 

"  What  '11  you  take  ? "  said  the  man,  sullenly. 

"  Two  hundred  dollars,"  replied  Alessandro. 

"  Well,  leave  your  plough  and  wagon,  and  I  '11  give 
it  to  you,"  said  the  man ;  "  and  a  big  fool  I  am,  too. 
Well  laughed  at,  I'll  be,  do  you  know  it,  for  buying 
out  an  Indian  '  " 

"The  wagon,  Senor,  cost  me  one  hundred  and 
thirty  dollars  in  San  Diego.  You  cannot  buy  one  so 
good  for  less.  I  will  not  sell  it.  I  need  it  to  take 
away  my  things  in.  The  plough  you  may  have. 
That  is  worth  twenty." 

"  I  '11  do  it,"  said  the  man  ;  and  pulling  out  a  heavy 
buckskin  pouch,  he  counted  out  into  Alessandro's 
hand  two  hundred  dollars  in  gold. 

"  Is  that  all  right  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  put  down  the 
last  piece. 

"  That  is  the  sum  I  said,  Senor,"  replied  Alessan 
dro.  "To-morrow,  at  noon,  you  can  come  into  the 
house." 

"  Where   will  you   go  ? "   asked  the   man,    again 


RAMON  A.  357 

slightly  touched  by  Alessandro's  manner.  "Why 
don't  you  stay  round  here  ?  I  expect  you  could  get 
work  enough ;  there  are  a  lot  of  farmers  coming  in 
here  ;  they  '11  want  hands." 

A  fierce  torrent  of  words  sprang  to  Alessandro's 
lips,  but  he  choked  them  back.  "  I  do  not  know 
where  I  shall  go,  but  I  will  not  stay  here,"  he  said ; 
and  that  ended  the  interview. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  blame  him  a  mite  for  feeling 
that  way,"  thought  the  man  from  the  States,  as  he 
walked  slowly  back  to  his  pile  of  lumber.  "  I  expect 
I  should  feel  just  so  myself." 

Almost  before  Alessandro  had  finished  this  tale,  he 
began  to  move  about  the  room,  taking  down,  folding 
up,  opening  and  shutting  lids  ;  his  restlessness  was 
terrible  to  see.  "  By  sunrise,  I  would  like  to  be  off," 
he  said.  "  It  is  like  death,  to  be  in  the  house  which 
is  no  longer  ours."  Eamona  had  spoken  no  word 
since  her  first  cry  on  hearing  that  terrible  laugh. 
She  was  like  one  stricken  dumb.  The  shock  was 
greater  to  her  than  to  Alessandro.  lie  had  lived 
with  it  ever  present  in  his  thoughts  for  a  year.  She 
had  always  hoped.  But  far  more  dreadful  than  the 
loss  of  her  home,  was  the  anguish  of  seeing,  hear 
ing,  the  changed  face,  changed  voice,  of  Alessandro. 
Almost  this  swallowed  up  the  other.  She  obeyed 
him  mechanically,  working  faster  and  faster  as  he 
grew  more  and  more  feverish  in  his  haste.  Before 
sundown  the  little  house  was  dismantled ;  every 
thing,  except  the  bed  and  the  stove,  packed  in  the 
big  wagon. 

"  Now,  we  must  cook  food  for  the  journey,"  said 
Alessandro. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ? "  said  the  weeping  Eamona. 

"  Where  ?  "  ejaculated  Alessandro,  so  scornfully 
that  it  sounded  like  impatience  with  Eamona,  and 
made  her  tears  ilow  afresh.  "  Where  ?  I  know  not, 


358  RAMONA. 

Majella !    Into  the  mountains,  where  the  white  men 
come  not !    At  sunrise  we  will  start." 

Eamona  wished  to  say  good-by  to  their  friends. 
There  were  women  in  the  village  that  she  tenderly 
loved.  But  Alessandro  was  unwilling.  "  There 
will  be  weeping  and  crying,  Majella;  I  pray  you 
do  not  speak  to  one.  Why  should  we  have  more 
tears  ?  Let  us  disappear.  I  will  say  all  to  Ysidro. 
He  will  tell  them." 

This  was  a  sore  grief  to  Eamona.  In  her  heart 
she  rebelled  against  it,  as  she  had  never  yet  rebelled 
against  an  act  of  Alessandro's ;  but  she  could  not 
distress  him.  Was  not  his  burden  heavy  enough 
now  ? 

Without  a  word  of  farewell  to  any  one,  they  set  off 
in  the  gray  dawn,  before  a  creature  was  stirring  in 
the  village,  —  the  wagon  piled  high ;  Eamona,  her 
baby  in  her  arms,  in  front ;  Alessandro  walking.  The 
load  was  heavy.  Benito  and  Baba  walked  slowly. 
Capitan,  unhappy,  looking  first  at  Eamona's  face, 
then  at  Alessandro's,  walked  dispiritedly  by  their 
side.  He  knew  all  was  wrong. 

As  Alessandro  turned  the  horses  into  a  faintly 
marked  road  leading  in  a  northeasterly  direction, 
Eamona  said  with  a  sob,  "  Where  does  this  road  lead, 
Alessandro  ? " 

"  To  San  Jacinto,"  he  said.  "  San  Jacinto  Moun 
tain.  Do  not  look  back,  Majella  !  Do  not  look 
back ! "  he  cried,  as  he  saw  Eamona,  with  streaming 
eyes,  gazing  back  towards  San  Pasquale.  "Do  not 
look  back  !  It  is  gone  !  Pray  to  the  saints  now. 
Majella!  Pray!  Pray!" 


XXI. 

Senora  Moreno  was  dying.  It  had  been  a 
-1-  sad  two  years  in  the  Moreno  house.  After  the 
first  excitement  following  Kamoria's  departure  had 
died  away,  things  had  settled  down  in  a  surface 
similitude  of  their  old  routine.  But  nothing  was 
really  the  same.  No  one  was  so  happy  as  before. 
Juan  Canito  was  heart-broken.  There  had  been  set 
over  him  the  very  Mexican  whose  coming  to  the 
place  he  had  dreaded.  The  sheep  had  not  done 
well ;  there  had  been  a  drought ;  many  had  died  of 
hunger, —  a  thing  for  which  the  new  Mexican  over 
seer  was  not  to  blame,  though  it  pleased  Juan  to  hold 
him  so,  and  to  say  from  morning  till  night  that 
if  his  leg  had  not  been  broken,  or  if  the  lad  Ales- 
sandro  had  been  there,  the  wool-crop  would  have 
been  as  big  as  ever.  Not  one  of  the  servants  liked 
this  Mexican  ;  he  had  a  sorry  time  of  it,  poor  fellow ; 
each  man  and  woman  on  the  place  had  or  fancied 
some  reason  for  being  set  against  him ;  some  from 
sympathy  with  Juan  Can,  some  from  idleness  and 
general  impatience ;  Margarita,  most  of  all,  because 
he  was  not  Alessandro.  Margarita,  between  re 
morse  about  her  young  mistress  and  pique  and  dis 
appointment  about  Alessandro,  had  become  a  very 
unhappy  girl ;  and  her  mother,  instead  of  comforting 
or  soothing  her,  added  to  her  misery  by  continually 
bemoaning  Eamona's  fate.  The  void  that  Ramona 
had  left  in  the  whole  household  seemed  an  irrepara 
ble  one ;  nothing  came  to  fill  it ;  there  was  no  forget 
ting  ;  every  day  her  name  was  mentioned  by  some 


360  RAMONA. 

one  ;  mentioned  with  bated  breath,  fearful  conjecture, 
compassion,  and  regret.  Where  had  she  vanished  ? 
Had  she  indeed  gone  to  the  convent,  as  she  said,  or 
had  she  fled  with  Alessandro  ? 

Margarita  would  have  given  her  right  hand  to 
know.  Only  Juan  Can  felt  sure.  Very  well  Juan 
Can  knew  that  nobody  but  Alessandro  had  the  wit 
and  the  power  over  Baba  to  lure  him  out  of  that  corral, 
"and  never  a  rail  out  of  its  place."  And  the  saddle, 
too  !  Ay,  the  smart  lad !  He  had  done  the  best  he 
could  for  the  Senorita ;  but,  Holy  Virgin  !  what  had 
got  into  the  Senorita  to  run  off  like  that,  with  an 
Indian,  —  even  Alessandro!  The  fiends  had  bewitched 
her.  Tirelessly  Juan  Can  questioned  every  traveller, 
every  wandering  herder  he  saw.  No  one  knew  any 
thing  of  Alessandro,  beyond  the  fact  that  all  the  Tc- 
inecula  Indians  had  been  driven  out  of  their  village, 
and  that  there  was  now  not  an  Indian  in  the  valley. 
There  was  a  rumor  that  Alessandro  and  his  father 
had  both  died ;  but  no  one  knew  anything  certainly. 
The  Temecula  Indians  had  disappeared,  that  was  all 
there  was  of  it, —  disappeared,  like  any  wild  creatures, 
foxes  or  coyotes  ;  hunted  down,  driven  out ;  the  val 
ley  was  rid  of  them.  But  the  Senorita !  She  was 
not  with  these  fugitives.  That  could  not  be !  Heaven 
forbid ! 

"  If  I  'd  my  legs,  I  'd  go  and  see  for  myself ! "  said 
Juan  Can.  "  It  would  be  some  comfort  to  know- 
even  the  worst.  Perdition  take  the  Senora,  who 
drove  her  to  it !  Ay,  drove  her  to  it !  That 's  what 
I  say,  Luigo."  In  some  of  his  most  venturesome 
wrathy  moments  he  would  say  :  "  There  's  none  of 
you  know  the  truth  about  the  Senorita  but  me  !  It 's 
a  hard  hand  the  Senora 's  reared  her  with,  from  the 
first.  She  's  a  wonderful  woman,  our  Senora  !  She 
gets  power  over  one." 

But  the  Senora's  power  was  shaken  now.     More 


RAMONA.  361 

changed  than  all  else  in  the  changed  Moreno  house 
hold,  was  the  relation  between  the  Sefiora  Moreno 
and  her  son  Felipe.  On  the  morning  after  Eamona's 
disappearance,  words  had  been  spoken  by  each  which 
neither  would  ever  forget.  In  fact,  the  Senora  believed 
that  it  was  of  them  she  was  dying,  and  perhaps  that 
was  not  far  from  the  truth ;  the  reason  that  forces 
could  no  longer  rally  in  her  to  repel  disease,  lying 
no  doubt  largely  in  the  fact  that  to  live  seemed  no 
longer  to  her  desirable. 

Felipe  had  found  the  note  Ramona  had  laid  on  his 
bed.  Before  it  was  yet  dawn  he  had  waked,  and 
tossing  uneasily  under  the  light  covering  had  heard 
the  rustle  of  the  paper,  and  knowing  instinctively 
that  it  was  from  Ramoua,  had  risen  instantly  to  make 
sure  of  it.  Before  his  mother  opened  her  window, 
he  had  read  it.  He  felt  like  one  bereft  of  his  senses 
as  he  read.  Gone  !  Gone  with  Alessandro  !  Stolen 
away  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  his  dear,  sweet  little 
sister !  Ah,  what  a  cruel  shame !  Scales  seemed  to 
drop  from  Felipe's  eyes  as  he  lay  motionless,  think 
ing  of  it.  A  shame !  a  cruel  shame !  And  he  and 
his  mother  were  the  ones  who  had  brought  it  on 
Eamoua's  head,  and  on  the  house  of  Moreno.  Felipe 
felt  as  if  he  had  been  under  a  spell  all  along,  not  to 
have  realized  this.  "  That 's  what  I  told  my  mother ! " 
he  groaned,  —  "  that  it  drove  her  to  running  away  ! 
Oh,  my  sweet  Eamona  !  what  will  become  of  her  ?  I 
will  go  after  them,  and  bring  them  back  ; "  and  Felipe 
rose,  and  hastily  dressing  himself,  ran  down  the  ve 
randa  steps,  to  gain  a  little  more  time  to  think.  He 
returned  shortly,  to  meet  his  mother  standing  in  the 
doorway,  with  pale,  affrighted  face. 

"  Felipe  ! "  she  cried,  "  Ramona  is  not  here." 
"  I  know  it,"  lie  replied  in  an  angry  tone.    "  That  is 
what  I  told  you  we  should  do,  —  drive  her  to  running 
away  with  Alessandro  ! " 


3G2  RAMONA. 

"  With  Alessandro  ! "  interrupted  the  Sefiora. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Felipe,  —  "  with  Alessandro,  the 
Indian  !  Perhaps  you  think  it  is  less  disgrace  to  the 
names  of  Ortegna  arid  Moreno  to  have  her  run  away 
with  him,  than  to  be  married  to  him  here  under 
our  roof !  I  do  not !  Curse  the  day,  I  say,  when  I 
ever  lent  myself  to  breaking  the  girl's  heart !  I  am 
going  after  them,  to  fetch  them  back  ! " 

If  the  skies  had  opened  and  rained  fire,  the  Senora 
had  hardly  less  quailed  and  wondered  than  she  did 
at  these  words ;  but  even  for  fire  from  the  skies  she 
would  not  surrender  till  she  must. 

"  How  know  you  that  it  is  with  Alessandro  ?  "  she 
said. 

"  Because  she  has  written  it  here ! "  cried  Felipe, 
defiantly  holding  up  his  little  note.  "  She  left  this, 
her  good-by  to  me.  Bless  her  !  She  writes  like  a 
saint,  to  thank  me  for  all  my  goodness  to  her,  —  I, 
who  drove  her  to  steal  out  of  my  house  like  a 
thief!" 

The  phrase,  "  my  house,"  smote  the  Senora's  ear  like 
a  note  from  some  other  sphere,  which  indeed  it  was, 
—  from  the  new  world  into  which  Felipe  had  been  in' 
an  hour  born.  Her  cheeks  flushed,  and  she  opened 
her  lips  to  reply ;  but  before  she  had  uttered  a  word, 
Luigo  came  running  round  the  corner,  Juan  Can  hob 
bling  after  him  at  a  miraculous  pace  on  his  crutches. 
"  Senor  Felipe !  Senor  Felipe  !  Oh,  Senora  ! "  they 
cried.  "  Thieves  have  been  here  in  the  night !  Baba 
is  gone,  —  Baba,  and  the  Senorita's  saddle." 

A  malicious  smile  broke  over  the  Senora's  counte 
nance,  and  turning  to  Felipe,  she  said  in  a  tone  — 
what  a  tone  it  was  !  Felipe  felt  as  if  he  must  put 
his  hands  to  his  ears  to  shut  it  out ;  Felipe  would 
never  forget,  —  "  As  you  were  saying,  like  a  thief  in 
the  night!" 

With  a  swifter  and  more  energetic  movement  than 


RAMONA.  363 

any  had  ever  before  seen  Senor  Felipe  make,  he  stepped 
forward,  saying  in  an  undertone  to  his  mother,  "  For 
God's  sake,  mother,  not  a  word  before  the  men !  — 
What  is  that  you  say,  Luigo  ?  Baba  gone  ?  We 
must  see  to  our  corral.  I  will  come  down,  after 
breakfast,  and  look  at  it ; "  and  turning  his  back  on 
them,  he  drew  his  mother  by  a  firm  grasp,  she  could 
not  resist,  into  the  house. 

She  gazed  at  him  in  sheer,  dumb  wonder. 

"  Ay,  mother,"  he  said,  "  you  may  well  look  thus 
in  wonder;  I  have  been  no  man,  to  let  my  foster- 
sister,  I  care  not  what  blood  were  in  her  veins, 
be  driven  to  this  pass  !  I  will  set  out  this  day,  and 
bring  her  back." 

"  The  day  you  do  that,  then,  I  lie  in  this  house 
dead ! "  retorted  the  Sefiora,  at  white  heat.  "  You 
may  rear  as  many  Indian  families  as  you  please  under 
the  Moreno  roof,  I  will  at  least  have  my  grave  ! "  In 
spite  of  her  anger,  grief  convulsed  her;  and  in  another 
second  she  had  burst  into  tears,  and  sunk  helpless 
and  trembling  into  a  chair.  No  counterfeiting  now. 
No  pretences.  The  Senora  Moreno's  heart  broke 
within  her,  when  those  words  passed  her  lips  to  her 
adored  Felipe.  At  the  sight,  Felipe  flung  himself 
on  his  knees  before  her  ;  he  kissed  the  aged  hands 
as  they  lay  trembling  in  her  lap.  "  Mother  mia,"  he 
cried,  "you  will  break  my  heart  if  you  speak  like 
that !  Oh,  why,  why  do  you  command  me  to  do  what 
a  man  may  not  ?  I  would  die  for  you,  my  mother ; 
but  how  can  I  see  my  sister  a  homeless  wanderer  in 
the  wilderness  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  the  man  Alessandro  has  something  he 
calls  a  home,"  said  the  Sefiora,  regaining  herself  a 
little.  "  Had  they  no  plans  ?  Spoke  she  not  in  her 
letter  of  what  they  would  do  ?  " 

"  Only  that  they  would  go  to  Father  Salvierderra 
first,"  he  replied. 


304  RAMON  A. 

"  Ah  !  "  The  Seiiora  reflected.  At  first  startled, 
her  second  thought  was  that  this  would  be  the  best 
possible  thing  which  could  happen.  "  Father  Sal- 
vierderra  will  counsel  them  what  to  do,"  she  said. 
"  He  could  no  doubt  establish  them  in  Santa  Bar 
bara  in  some  way.  My  son,  when  you  reflect,  you  will 
see  the  impossibility  of  bringing  them  here.  Help 
them  in  any  way  you  like,  but  do  not  bring  them 
here."  She  paused.  "  Not  until  I  am  dead,  Felipe  ! 
It  will  not  be  long." 

Felipe  bowed  his  head  in  his  mother's  lap.  She 
laid  her  hands  on  his  hair,  and  stroked  it  with  passion 
ate  tenderness.  "  My  Felipe  !  "  she  said.  "  It  was  a 
cruel  fate  to  rob  me  of  you  at  the  last ! " 

"  Mother  !  mother  !  "  he  cried  in  anguish.  "  I  am 
yours,  —  wholly,  devotedly  yours !  Why  do  you 
torture  me  thus  ? " 

"  I  will  not  torture  you  more,"  she  said  wearily, 
in  a  feeble  tone.  "  I  ask  only  one  thing  of  you  ;  let 
me  never  hear  again  the  name  of  that  wretched  girl, 
who  has  brought  all  this  woe  on  our  house ;  let  her 
name  never  be  spoken  on  this  place  by  man,  woman, 
or  child.  Like  a  thief  in  the  night !  Ay,  a  horse- 
thief  ! " 

Felipe  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Mother  ! "  he  said,  "  Baba  was  Ramona's  own  ;  I 
myself  gave  him  to  her  as  soon  as  he  was  bom  ! " 

The  Sefiora  made  no  reply.  She  had  fainted. 
Calling  the  maids,  in  terror  and  sorrow  Felipe  bore 
her  to  her  bed,  and  she  did  not  leave  it  for  many 
days.  She  seemed  hovering  between  life  and  death. 
Felipe  watched  over  her  as  a  lover  might ;  her  great 
mournful  eyes  followed  his  every  motion.  She  spoke 
little,  partly  because  of  physical  weakness,  partly 
from  despair.  The  Senora  had  got  her  death-blow. 
She  would  die  hard.  It  would  take  long.  Yet  she  was 
dying,  and  she  knew  it. 


RAMON  A.  365 

Felipe  did  not  know  it.  When  he  saw  her  going 
about  again,  with  a  step  only  a  little  slower  than 
before,  and  with  a  countenance  not  so  much  changed 
as  he  had  feared,  he  thought  she  would  be  well  again, 
after  a  time.  And  now  he  would  go  in  search  of 
Karnona.  How  he  hoped  he  should  find  them  in 
Santa  Barbara  !  He  must  leave  them  there,  or  wher 
ever  he  should  find  them;  never  again  would  he  for  a 
moment  contemplate  the  possibility  of  bringing  them 
home  with  him.  But  he  would  see  them ;  help  them, 
if  need  be.  Rarnona  should  not  feel  herself  an  out 
cast,  so  long  as  he  lived. 

When  he  said,  agitatedly,  to  his  mother,  one  night, 
"  You  are  so  strong  now,  mother,  I  think  I  will  take 
a  journey;  I  will  not  be  away  long, —  not  over  a 
week,"  she  understood,  and  with  a  deep  sigh  replied : 
"  I  am  not  strong ;  but  I  am  as  strong  as  I  shall  ever 
be.  If  the  journey  must  be  taken,  it  is  as  well  done 
now." 

How  was  the  Sefiora  changed  ! 

"  It  must  be,  mother,"  said  Felipe,  "  or  I  would  not 
leave  you.  I  will  set  off  before  sunrise,  so  I  will  say 
farewell  to-night." 

But  in  the  morning,  at  his  first  step,  his  mother's 
window  opened,  and  there  she  stood,  wan,  speechless, 
looking  at  him.  "  You  must  go,  my  son  ? "  she  asked 
at  last. 

"  I  must,  mother !  "  and  Felipe  threw  his  arms  around 
her,  and  kissed  her  again  and  again.  "  Dearest  mother } 
Do  smile  !  Can  you  not  ?  " 

"No,  my  son,  I  cannot.  Farewell.  The  saints 
keep  you.  Farewell."  And  she  turned,  that  she 
might  not  see  him  go. 

Felipe  rode  away  with  a  sad  heart,  but  his  purpose 
did  not  falter.  Following  straight  down  the  river  road 
to  the  sea,  he  then  kept  up  along  the  coast,  asking 
here  and  there,  cautiously,  if  persons  answering  to  the 


366  RAM  ON  A, 

description  of  Alessandro  and  Eamona  had  been  seen. 
No  one  had  seen  any  such  persons. 

When,  on  the  night  of  the  second  day,  he  rode  up 
to  the  Santa  Barbara  Mission,  the  first  figure  he  saw- 
was  the  venerable  Father  Salvierderra  sitting  in  the 
corridor.  As  Felipe  approached,  the  old  man's  face1 
beamed  witli  pleasure,  and  he  came  forward  totter- 
ingly,  leaning  on  a  staff  in  each  hand.  "  Welcome, 
my  son  ! "  he  said.  "  Are  all  well  ?  You  find  me  very 
feeble  just  now ;  my  legs  are  failing  me  sorely  this 
autumn." 

Dismay  seized  on  Felipe  at  the  Father's  first  words. 
He  would  not  have  spoken  thus,  had  he  seen  Eamona. 
Barely  replying  to  the  greeting,  Felipe  exclaimed: 
"  Father,  I  come  seeking  Eamona.  Has  she  not  been 
with  you  ? " 

Father  Salvierderra's  face  was  reply  to  the  ques 
tion.  "  Eamona  ! "  he  cried.  "  Seeking  Eamona ! 
What  has  befallen  the  blessed  child  ? " 

It  was  a  bitter  story  for  Felipe  to  tell ;  but  he  told 
it,  sparing  himself  no  shame,  lie  would  have  suffered 
less  in  the  telling,  had  he  known  how  well  Father 
Salvierderra  understood  his  mother's  character,  and 
her  almost  unlimited  power  over  all  persons  around 
her.  Father  Salvierderra  was  not  shocked  at  the  news 
of  Eamona's  attachment  for  Alessandro.  He  regretted 
it,  but  he  did  not  think  it  shame,  as  the  Senora  had 
done.  As  Felipe  talked  with  him,  he  perceived  even 
more  clearly  how  bitter  and  unjust  his  mother  had 
been  to  Alessandro. 

"He  is  a  noble  young  man,"  said  Father  Salvier-, 
derra.  "  His  father  was  one  of  the  most  trusted  of 
Father  Peyri's  assistants.  You  must  find  them,  Felipe. 
I  wonder  much  they  did  not  come  to  me.  Perhaps 
they  may  yet  come.  When  you  find  them,  bear  them 
my  blessing,  and  say  that  I  wish  they  would  come 
^hither.  I  would  like  to  give  them  my  blessing  be- 


RAMONA,  307 

fore  I  die.  Felipe,  I  shall  never  leave  Santa  Barbara 
again.  My  time  draws  near." 

Felipe  was  so  full  of  impatience  to  continue  his 
search,  that  he  hardly  listened  to  the  Father's  words. 
"  I  will  not  tarry,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  rest  till  I 
find  her.  I  will  ride  back  as  far  as  Ventura  to 
night." 

"  You  will  send  me  word  by  a  messenger,  when  you 
find  them,"  said  the  Father.  "God  grant  no  harm 
has  befallen  them.  1  will  pray  for  them,  Felipe ; " 
and  he  tottered  into  the  church. 

Felipe's  thoughts,  as  he  retraced  his  road,  were  full 
of  bewilderment  and  pain.  He  was  wholly  at  loss  to 
conjecture  what  course  Alessandro  and  llamona  had 
taken,  or  what  could  have  led  them  to  abandon  their 
intention  of  going  to  Father  Salvierderra.  Temecula 
seemed  the  only  place,  now,  to  look  for  them ;  and 
yet  from  Temecula  Felipe  had  heard,  only  a  few  days 
before  leaving  home,  that  there  was  not  an  Indian 
left  in  the  valley.  But  he  could  at  least  learn  there 
where  the  Indians  had  gone.  Poor  as  the  clew 
seemed,  it  was  all  he  had.  Cruelly  Felipe  urged  his 
horse  on  his  return  journey.  He  grudged  an  hour's 
rest  to  himself  or  to  the  beast ;  and  before  he  reached 
the  head  of  the  Temecula  canon  the  creature  was 
near  spent.  At  the  steepest  part  he  jumped  off  and 
walked,  to  save  her  strength.  As  he  was  toiling 
slowly  up  a  narrow,  rocky  pass,  he  suddenly  saw  an 
Indian's  head  peering  over  the  ledge.  He  made 
signs  to  him  to  come  down.  The  Indian  turned  hisri 
head,  and  spoke  to  some  one  behind  ;  one  after  an 
other  a  score  of  figures  rose.  They  made  signs  to 
Felipe  to  come  up.  "  Poor  things ! "  he  thought ; 
"  they  are  afraid."  He  shouted  to  them  that  his 
horse  was  too  tired  to  climb  that  wall ;  but  if  they 
would  come  down,  he  would  give  them  money,  hold 
ing  up  a  gold-piece.  They  consulted  among  them- 


3G8  RAMONA. 

selves ;  presently  they  began  slowly  descending,  still 
halting  at  intervals,  and  looking  suspiciously  at  him. 
He  held  up  the  gold  again,  and  beckoned.  As  soon 
as  they  could  see  his  face  distinctly,  they  broke  into 
a  run.  That  was  no  enemy's  face. 

Only  one  of  the  number  could  speak  Spanish.  On 
hearing  this  man's  reply  to  Felipe's  first  question,  a 
woman,  who  had  listened  sharply  and  caught  the 
word  Alessandro,  came  forward,  and  spoke  rapidly  in 
the  Indian  tongue. 

"  This  woman  has  seen  Alessandro,"  said  the  man. 

"  Where  ? "  said  Felipe,  breathlessly 

"  In  Temecula,  two  weeks  ago,"  he  said. 

"  Ask  her  if  he  had  any  one  with  him,"  said 
Felipe. 

"  No,"  said  the  woman.     "  He  was  alone." 

A  convulsion  passed  over  Felipe's  face.  "  Alone ! " 
What  did  this  mean !  He  reflected.  The  woman 
watched  him.  "  Is  she  sure  he  was  alone ;  there  was 
no  one  with  him  ? " 

"Yes" 

"  Was  he  riding  a  big  black  horse  ? " 

"No,  a  white  horse,"  answered  the  woman, 
promptly.  "  A  small  white  horse." 

It  was  Carmena,  every  nerve  of  her  loyal  nature 
on  the  alert  to  baffle  this  pursuer  of  Alessandro  and 
Ramona.  Again  Felipe  reflected.  "  Ask  her  if  she 
saw  him  for  any  length  of  time ;  how  long  she  saw 
him." 

"  All  night,"  he  answered.  "  He  spent  the  night 
'where  she  did." 

Felipe  despaired.  "  Does  she  know  where  he  is 
now  ? "  he  asked. 

"  He  was  going  to  San  Luis  Obispo,  to  go  in  a  ship 
to  Monterey." 

"  What  to  do  ? " 

"  She  does  not  know." 


RAMON  A.  3G9 

"  Did  he  say  when  he  would  come  back  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  When  ? " 

"  Never !    He  said   he   would   never   set   foot  in 
Temecula  again." 

"  Does  she  know  him  well  ? " 

"  As  well  as  her  own  brother." 

What  more  could  Felipe  ask  ?  With  a  groan, 
wrung  from  the  very  depths  of  his  heart,  he  tossed 
the  man  a  gold-piece ;  another  to  the  woman.  "  I 
am  sorry,"  he  said.  "  Alessandro  was  my  friend. 
I  wanted  to  see  him ; "  and  he  rode  away,  Carmena's 
eyes  following  him  with  a  covert  gleam  of  triumph. 

When  these  last  words  of  his  were  interpreted 
to  her,  she  started,  made  as  if  she  would  run 
after  him,  but  checked  herself.  "  No,"  she  thought. 
"  It  may  be  a  lie.  He  may  be  an  enemy,  for  all 
that.  I  will  not  tell.  Alessandro  wished  not  to  be 
found.  I  will  not  tell." 

And  thus  vanished  the  last  chance  of  succor  for 
liarnona ;  vanished  in  a  moment  ;  blown  like  a 
thistle-down  on  a  chance  breath,  —  the  breath  of  a 
loyal,  loving  friend,  speaking  a  lie  to  save  her. 

Distraught  with  grief,  Felipe  returned  home.  Ea- 
mona  had  been  very  ill  when  she  left  home.  Had 
she  died,  and  been  buried  by  the  lonely,  sorrowing 
Alessandro  ?  And  was  that  the  reason  Alessandro 
was  goiug  away  to  the  North,  never  to  return  ?  Fool 
that  he  was,  to  have  shrunk  from  speaking  Eamona's 
name  to  the  Indians !  He  would  return,  and  ask 
again.  As  soon  as  he  had  seen  his  mother,  he  would 
set  oft'  again,  and  never  cease  searching  till  he  had 
found  either  Ramona  or  her  grave.  But  when  Felipe 
entered  his  mother's  presence,  his  first  look  in  her 
face  told  him  that  he  would  not  leave  her  side 
again  until  he  had  laid  her  at  rest  in  the  tomb. 

"  Thank  God !  you  have  come,  Felipe,"  she  said  in 
24 


370  RAMON  A. 

a  feeble  voice.  "  I  bad  begun  to  fear  you  would  not 
come  in  time  to  say  farewell  to  me.  I  am  going  to 
leave  you,  my  son ; "  and  the  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks. 

Though  she  no  longer  wished  to  live,  neither  did 
she  wish  to  die,  —  this  poor,  proud,  passionate,  de 
feated,  bereft  Senora.  All  the  consolations  of  her 
religion  seemed  to  fail  her.  She  had  prayed  inces 
santly,  but  got  no  peace.  She  fixed  her  imploring 
eyes  on  the  Virgin's  face  and  on  the  saints ;  but  all 
seemed  to  her  to  wear  a  forbidding  look.  "  If  Father 
Salvierderra  would  only  come!"  she  groaned.  "He 
could  give  me  peace.  If  only  I  can  live  till  he  comes 
again !  " 

When  Felipe  told  her  of  the  old  man's  feeble  state, 
and  that  he  would  never  again  make  the  journey,  sho 
turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and  wept.  Not  only  for 
her  own  soul's  help  did  she  wish  to  see  him:  she 
wished  to  put  into  his  hands  the  Ortegna  jewels. 
What  would  become  of  them  ?  To  whom  should  she 
transfer  the  charge  ?  Was  there  a  secular  priest 
within  reach  that  she  could  trust  ?  When  her  sister 
had  said,  in  her  instructions,  "  the  Church,"  she 
meant,  as  the  Senora  Moreno  well  knew,  the  Fran 
ciscans.  The  Senora  dared  not  consult  Felipe ;  yet 
she  must.  Day  by  day  these  fretting  anxieties  and 
perplexities  wasted  her  strength,  and  her  fever  grew 
higher  and  higher.  She  asked  no  questions  as  to  the 
result  of  Felipe's  journey,  and  he  dared  not  mention 
Ramona's  name.  At  last  he  could  bear  it  no  longer, 
and  one  day  said,  "Mother,  I  found  no  trace  of 
liamona.  I  have  not  the  least  idea  where  she  is. 
The  Father  had  not  seen  her  or  heard  of  her.  I  fear 
she  is  dead." 

"  Better  so,"  was  the  Senora's  sole  reply ;  and  she 
fell  again  into  still  deeper,  more  perplexed  thought 
about  the  hidden  treasure.  Each  day  she  resolved, 


RAMONA.  371 

"To-morrow  I  will  tell  Felipe  ;"  and  when  to-morrow 
came,  she  put  it  oif  again.  Finally  she  decided  not 
to  do  it  till  she  found  herself  dying.  Father  Sal- 
vierderra  might  yet  come  once  more,  and  then  all 
would  be  well.  With  trembling  hands  she  wrote 
him  a  letter,  imploring  him  to  be  brought  to  her,  and 
sent  it  by  messenger,  who  was  empowered  to  hire  a 
litter  and  four  men  to  bring  the  Father  gently  and 
carefully  all  the  way.  But  when  the  messenger 
reached  Santa  Barbara,  Father  Salvierderra  was  too 
feeble  to  be  moved ;  too  feeble  even  to  write.  He 
could  write  only  by  amanuensis,  and  wrote,  therefore, 
guardedly,  sending  her  his  blessing,  and  saying  that 
he  hoped  her  foster-child  might  yet  be  restored  to 
the  keeping  of  her  friends.  The  Father  had  been  in 
sore  straits  of  mind,  as  month  after  month  had 
passed  without  tidings  of  his  "  blessed  child." 

Soon  after  this  carne  the  news  that  the  Father 
was  dead.  This  dealt  the  Senora  a  terrible  blow. 
She  never  left  her  bed  after  it.  And  so  the  year  had 
worn  on ;  and  Felipe,  mourning  over  his  sinking  and 
failing  mother,  and  haunted  by  terrible  fears  about 
the  lost  Eamona,  had  been  tortured  indeed. 

But  the  end  drew  near,  now.  The  Senora  was 
plainly  dying.  The  Ventura  doctor  had  left  off  com 
ing,  saying  that  he  could  do  no  more  ;  nothing  re 
mained  but  to  give  her  what  ease  was  possible  ;  in  a 
day  or  two  more  all  would  be  over.  Felipe  hardly 
left  her  bedside.  Earely  was  mother  so  loved  and 
nursed  by  son.  No  daughter  could  have  shown  more 
tenderness  and  devotion.  In  the  close  relation  and 
affection  of  these  last  days,  the  sense  of  alienation 
and  antagonism  faded  from  both  their  hearts. 

"  My  adorable  Felipe !  "  she  would  murmur. 
"What  a  son  hast  thou  been  !"  And,  "My  beloved 
mother  !  How  shall  I  give  you  up  ? "  Felipe  would 
reply,  bowing  his  head  on  her  hands,  —  so  wasted  now. 


372  RAMONA. 

so  white,  so  weak  ;  those  hands  which  had  been  cruel 
and  strong  little  more  than  one  short  year  ago.  Ah, 
no  one  could  refuse  to  forgive  the  Senora  now  !  The 
gentle  Eamona,  had  she  seen  her,  had  wept  tears  of 
pity.  Her  eyes  wore  at  times  a  look  almost  of  terror. 
It  was  the  secret.  How  should  she  speak  it  ?  What 
would  Felipe  say  ?  At  last  the  moment  came.  She 
had  been  with  difficulty  roused  from  a  long  fainting ; 
one  more  such  would  be  the  last,  she  knew,  —  knew 
even  better  than  those  around  her.  As  she  regained 
consciousness,  she  gasped,  "  Felipe  !  Alone ! " 

He  understood,  and  waved  the  rest  away. 

"  Alone ! "  she  said  again,  turning  her  eyes  to  the 
door. 

"  Leave  the  room,"  said  Felipe  ;  "  all  —  wait  out 
side  ; "  and  he  closed  the  door  on  them.  Even  then 
the  Senora  hesitated.  Almost  was  she  ready  to 
go  out  of  life  leaving  the  hidden  treasure  to  its 
chance  of  discovery,  rather  than  with  her  own  lips 
reveal  to  Felipe  what  she  saw  now,  saw  with  the 
terrible,  relentless  clear-sightedness  of  death,  would 
make  him,  even  after  she  was  in  her  grave,  reproach 
her  in  his  thoughts. 

But  she  dared  not  withhold  it.  It  must  be  said. 
Pointing  to  the  statue  of  Saint  Catharine,  whose  face 
seemed,  she  thought,  to  frown  unforgiving  upon  her, 
she  said,  "  Felipe  —  behind  that  statue  —  look !  " 

Felipe  thought  her  delirious,  and  said  tenderly, 
"  Nothing  is  there,  dearest  mother.  Be  calm.  I  am 
here." 

New  terror  seized  the  dying  woman.  Was  she  to 
be  forced  to  carry  the  secret  to  the  grave  ?  to  be  de 
nied  this  late  avowal  ?  "  No  !  no  !  Felipe  —  there  is 
a  door  there  —  secret  door.  Look  !  Open  !  I  must 
tell  you  ! " 

Hastily  Felipe  moved  the  statue.  There  was  indeed 
the  door,  as  she  had  said. 


RAMON  A.  373 

"  Do  not  tell  me  now,  mother  dear.  Wait  till  you 
are  stronger,"  he  said.  As  he  spoke,  he  turned,  and 
saw,  with  alarm,  his  mother  sitting  upright  in  the 
bed,  her  right  arm  outstretched,  her  hand  pointing  to 
the  door,  her  eyes  in  a  glassy  stare,  her  face  convulsed. 
Before  a  cry  could  pass  his  lips,  she  had  fallen  back. 
The  Senora  Moreno  was  dead. 

At  Felipe's  cry,  the  women  waiting  in  the  hall 
hurried  in,  wailing  aloud  as  their  first  glance  showed 
them  all  was  over.  In  the  confusion,  Felipe,  with  a 
pale,  set  face,  pushed  the  statue  back  into  its  place. 
Even  then  a  premonition  of  horror  swept  over  him. 
What  was  he,  the  son,  to  find  behind  that  secret  door, 
at  sight  of  which  his  mother  had  died  with  thatrlook 
of  anguished  terror  in  her  eyes  ?  All  through  the  sad 
duties  of  the  next  four  days  Felipe  was  conscious  of 
the  undercurrent  of  this  premonition.  The  funeral 
ceremonies  were  impressive.  The  little  chapel  could 
not  hold  the  quarter  part  of  those  who  came,  from 
far  and  near.  Everybody  wished  to  do  honor  to  the 
Senora  Moreno.  A  priest  from  Ventura  and  one  from 
San  Luis  Obispo  were  there.  When  all  was  done, 
they  bore  the  Senora  to  the  little  graveyard  on  the 
hillside,  and  laid  her  by  the  side  of  her  husband  and 
her  children ;  silent  and  still  at  last,  the  restless, 
passionate,  proud,  sad  heart !  When,  the  night  after 
the  funeral,  the  servants  saw  Senor  Felipe  going  into 
his  mother's  room,  they  shuddered,  and  whispered, 
"  Oh,  he  must  not !  He  will  break  his  heart,  Senor 
Felipe  !  How  he  loved  her  ! " 

Old  Marda  ventured  to  follow  him,  and  at  the 
threshold  said  :  "  Dear  Senor  Felipe,  do  not !  It  is 
not  good  to  go  there  !  Come  away  ! " 

But  he  put  her  gently  by,  saying,  "  I  wrould  rather 
be  here,  good  Marda ; "  and  went  in  and  locked  the 
door. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  he  came  out     His  face 


374  RAMONA. 

was  stern.  He  had  buried  his  mother  again.  Well 
might  the  Senora  have  dreaded  to  tell  to  Felipe  the 
tale  of  the  Ortegna  treasure.  Until  he  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  jewel-box,  and  found  the  Senora 
Ortegna's  letter  to  his  mother,  he  was  in  entire 
bewilderment  at  all  he  saw.  After  he  had  read  this 
letter,  he  sat  motionless  for  a  long  time,  his  head 
buried  in  his  hands.  His  soul  was  wrung. 

"  And  she  thought  that  shame,  and  not  this ! "  he 
said  bitterly. 

But  one  thing  remained  for  Felipe  now.  If  Ra- 
mona  lived,  he  would  find  her,  and  restore  to  her  this 
her  rightful  property.  If  she  were  dead,  it  must  go 
to  the  Santa  Barbara  College. 

"  Surely  my  mother  must  have  intended  to  give  it 
to  the  Church,"  he  said.  "  But  why  keep  it  all  this 
time  ?  It  is  this  that  has  killed  her.  Oh,  shame ! 
oh,  disgrace  ! "  From  the  grave  in  which  Felipe  had 
buried  his  mother  now,  was  no  resurrection. 

Replacing  everything  as  before  in  the  safe  hiding- 
place,  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Superior 
of  the  Santa  Barbara  College,  telling  him  of  the 
existence  of  these  valuables,  which  in  certain  contin 
gencies  would  belong  to  the  College.  Early  in  the 
morning  he  gave  this  letter  to  Juan  Canito,  saying: 
"  I  am  going  away,  Juan,  on  a  journey.  If  anything 
happens  to  me,  and  I  do  not  return,  send  this  letter 
by  trusty  messenger  to  Santa  Barbara." 

"  Will  you  be  long  away,  Senor  Felipe  ? "  asked  the 
old  man,  piteously. 

"  I  cannot  tell,  Juan,"  replied  Felipe.  "  It  may  be 
Vmly  a  short  time ;  it  may  be  long.  I  leave  every 
thing  in  your  care.  You  will  do  all  according  to 
your  best  judgment,  I  know.  I  will  say  to  all  that 
I  have  left  you  in  charge." 

"  Thanks,  Senor  Felipe !  Thanks ! "  exclaimed  Juan, 
happier  than  he  had  been  for  two  years.  "  Indeed, 


RAMON  A.  375 

you  may  trust  me !  From  the  time  you  were  a  boy 
till  now,  I  have  had  no  thought  except  for  your 
house." 

Even  in  heaven  the  Senora  Moreno  had  felt  woe 
as  if  in  hell,  had  she  known  the  thoughts  with  which 
her  Felipe  galloped  this  morning  out  of  the  gate 
way  through  which,  only  the  day  before,  he  had 
walked  weeping  behind  her  body  borne  to  burial. 

"  And  she  thought  this  no  shame  to  the  house  of 
Moreno  ! "  he  said.  "  My  God ! " 


XXII. 

DURING  the  first  day  of  Eamona's  and  Alessan- 
dro's  sad  journey  they  scarcely  spoke.  Ales- 
sandro  walked  at  the  horses'  heads,  his  face  sunk  on 
his  breast,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  Eamona 
watched  him  in  anxious  fear.  Even  the  baby's  voice 
and  cooing  laugh  won  from  him  no  response.  After 
they  were  camped  for  the  night,  she  said,  "Dear 
Alessandro,  will  you  not  tell  me  where  we  are  going  ? " 

In  spite  of  her  gentleness,  there  was  a  shade  of 
wounded  feeling  in  her  tone.  Alessandro  flung  him 
self  on  his  knees  before  her,  and  cried :  "  My  Majella ! 
my  Majella !  it  seems  to  me  I  am  going  mad!  I  can 
not  tell  what  to  do.  I  do  not  know  what  I  think ;  all 
my  thoughts  seem  whirling  round  as  leaves  do  in 
brooks  in  the  time  of  the  spring  rains.  Do  you 
think  I  can  be  going  mad  ?  It  was  enough  to  make 
me!" 

Ramona,  her  own  heart  wrung  with  fear,  soothed 
him  as  best  she  could.  "  Dear  Alessandro,"  she  said, 
"let  us  go  to  Los  Angeles,  and  not  live  with  the 
Indians  any  more.  You  could  get  work  there.  You. 
could  play  at  dances  sometimes ;  there  must  be 
plenty  of  work.  I  could  get  more  sewing  to  do,  too. 
It  would  be  better,  I  think." 

He  looked  horror-stricken  at  the  thought.  "  Go 
live  among  the  white  people !  "  he  cried.  "  What 
does  Majella  think  would  become  of  one  Indian,  or 
two,  alone  among  whites  ?  If  they  will  come  to  our 
villages  and  drive  us  out  a  hundred  at  a  time,  what 
would  they  do  to  one  man  alone  ?  Oh,  Majella  is 
foolish!" 


RAMONA.  377 

"  But  there  are  many  of  your  people  at  work  for 
whites  at  San  Bernardino  and  other  places,"  she  per 
sisted.  "  Why  could  not  we  do  as  they  do  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  bitterly,  "  at  work  for  whites ;  so 
they  are !  Majella  has  not  seen.  No  man  will  pay 
an  Indian  but  half  wages ;  even  long  ago,  when  the 
Fathers  were  not  all  gone,  and  tried  to  help  the  In 
dians,  my  father  has  told  me  that  it  was  the  way 
only  to  pay  an  Indian  one-half  that  a  white  man  or 
a  Mexican  had.  It  was  the  Mexicans,  too,  did  that, 
Majella.  And  new  they  pay  the  Indians  in  money 
sometimes,  half  wages ;  sometimes  in  bad  flour,  01- 
things  he  does  not  want ;  sometimes  in  whiskey ; 
and  if  he  will  not  take  it,  and  asks  for  his  money, 
they  laugh,  and  tell  him  to  go,  then.  One  man  in 
San  Bernardino  last  year,  when  an  Indian  would  not 
take  a  bottle  of  sour  wine  for  pay  for  a  day's  work, 
shot  him  in  the  cheek  with  his  pistol,  and  told  him 
to  mind  how  he  was  insolent  any  more !  Oh,  Ma 
jella,  do  not  ask  me  to  go  work  in  the  towns !  I 
should  kill  some  man,  Majella,  if  I  saw  things  like 
that." 

Eamona  shuddered,  and  was  silent.  Alessandro 
continued :  "  If  Majella  would  not  be  afraid,  I  know 
a  place,  high  up  on  the  mountain,  where  no  white  man 
has  ever  been,  or  ever  will  be.  I  found  it  when  I  was 
following  a  bear.  The  beast  led  me  up.  It  was  his 
home ;  and  I  said  then,  it  was  a  fit  hiding-place  for  a 
man.  There  is  water,  and  a  little  green  valley.  We 
could  live  there ;  but  it  would  be  no  more  than  to 
live  ;  it  is  very  small,  the  valley.  Majella  would  be 
afraid  ? " 

"  Yes,  Alessandro,  I  would  be  afraid,  all  alone  on 
a  high  mountain.  Oh,  do  not  let  us  go  there  !  Try 
something  else  first,  Alessandro.  Is  there  no  other 
Indian  village  you  know  ? " 

"  There  is  Saboba,"  he  said,  "  at  foot  of  the  San 


378  RAMONA. 

Jacinto  Mountain  ;  I  had  thought  of  that.  Some  of  my 
people  went  there  from  Temecula ;  but  it  is  a  poor 
little  village,  Majella.  Majella  would  not  like  to  live  in 
it.  Neither  do  I  believe  it  will  long  be  any  safer  than 
San  Pasquale.  There  was  a  kind,  good  old  man  who 
owned  all  that  valley,  —  Senor  Eavallo  ;  he  found  the 
village  of  Saboba  there  when  he  came  to  the  country. 
It  is  one  of  the  very  oldest  of  all ;  he  was  good  to  all 
Indians,  and  he  said  they  should  never  be  disturbed, 
never.  He  is  dead  ;  but  his  three  sons  have  the  estate 
yet,  and  I  think  they  would  keep  their  father's  prom 
ise  to  the  Indians.  But  you  see,  to-morrow,  Majella, 
they  may  die,  or  go  back  to  Mexico,  as  Senor  Valdez 
did,  and  then  the  Americans  will  get  it,  as  they 
did  Temecula.  And  there  are  already  white  men  liv 
ing  in  the  valley.  We  will  go  that  way,  Majella. 
Majella  shall  see.  If  she  says  stay,  we  will  stay." 

It  was  in  the  early  afternoon  that  they  entered  the 
broad  valley  of  San  Jacinto.  They  entered  if  from 
the  west.  As  they  came  in,  though  the  sky  over 
their  heads  was  overcast  and  gray,  the  eastern  and 
northeastern  part  of  the  valley  was  flooded  with  a 
strange  light,  at  once  ruddy  and  golden.  It  was  a 
glorious  sight.  The  jagged  top  and  spurs  of  San 
Jacinto  Mountain  shone  like  the  turrets  and  pos 
terns  of  a  citadel  built  of  rubies.  The  glow  seemed 
preternatural. 

"  Behold  San  Jacinto  ! "  cried  Alessandro. 

Eamona  exclaimed  in  delight.  "It  is  an  omen  !  " 
she  said.  "  We  are  going  into  the  sunlight,  out  of 
the  shadow ; "  and  she  glanced  back  at  the  wrest,  which 
was  of  a  slaty  blackness. 

"I  like  it  not!"  said  Alessandro.  "The  shadow 
follows  too  fast ! " 

Indeed  it  did.  Even  as  he  spoke,  a  fierce  wind 
blew  from  the  north,  and  tearing  off  fleeces  from 
the  black  cloud,  sent  them  in  scurrying  masses  across 


RAMON  A.  379 

the  sky.  In  a  moment  more,  snow-flakes  began  to 
fall. 

"  Holy  Virgin  ! "  cried  Alessandro.  Too  well  he 
knew  what  it  meant.  He  urged  the  horses,  running 
fast  beside^  them.  It  was  of  110  use.  Too  much  even 
for  Baba  and  Benito  to  make  any  haste,  with  the 
heavily  loaded  wagon. 

"  There  is  an  old  sheep-corral  and  a  hut  not  over 
a  mile  farther,  if  we  could  but  reach  it !  "  groaned 
Alessandro.  "  Majella,  you  and  the  child  will  freeze." 

"  She  is  warm  on  my  breast,"  said  Eamona  ;  "  but, 
Alessandro,  what  ice  in  this  wind  !  It  is  like  a  knife 
at  my  back  ! " 

Alessandro  uttered  another  ejaculation  of  dismay. 
The  snow  was  fast  thickening ;  already  the  track  was 
covered.  The  wind  lessened. 

"  Thank  God,  that  wind  no  longer  cuts  as  it  did," 
said  Eamona,  her  teeth  chattering,  clasping  the  baby 
closer  and  closer. 

"  I  would  rather  it  blew  than  not,"  said  Alessan 
dro  ;  "  it  will  carry  the  snow  before  it.  A  little  more 
of  this,  and  we  cannot  see,  any  more  than  in  the 
night." 

Still  thicker  and  faster  fell  the  snow ;  the  air  was 
dense ;  it  was,  as  Alessandro  had  said,  worse  than  the 
darkness  of  night,  —  this  strange  opaque  whiteness, 
thick,  choking,  freezing  one's  breath.  Presently  the 
rough  jolting  of  the  wagon  showed  that  they  were  off 
the  road.  The  horses  stopped  ;  refused  to  go  on. 

"  We  are  lost,  if  we  stay  here  ! "  cried  Alessandro. 
"Come,  my  Benito,  come  1"  and  he  took  him  by  the 
head,  and  pulled  him  by  main  force  back  into  the 
road,  and  led  him  along.  It  was  terrible.  Eamona's 
heart  sank  within  her.  She  felt  her  arms  growing 
numb;  how  much  longer  could  she  hold  the  baby 
safe  ?  She  called  to  Alessaudro.  He  did  not  hear 
her ;  the  wind  had  risen  again ;  the  snow  was  being 


380  RAMONA. 

blown  in  masses  ;  it  was  like  making  headway  among 
whirling  snow-drifts. 

"  We  will  die,"  thought  Ramona.  "  Perhaps  it  is 
as  well ! "  And  that  was  the  last  she  knew,  till  she 
heard  a  shouting,  and  found  herself  being  shaken  and 
beaten,  and  heard  a  strange  voice  saying,  "  Sorry  ter 
handle  yer  so  rough,  ma'am,  but  we  've  got  ter  git  yer 
out  ter  the  fire  ! " 

"  Fire ! "  Were  there  such  things  as  fire  and 
warmth  ?  Mechanically  she  put  the  baby  into  the 
unknown  arms  that  were  reaching  up  to  her,  and  tried 
to  rise  from  her  seat ;  but  she  could  not  move. 

"  Set  still !  set  still !"  said  the  strange  voice.  "  I  '11 
jest  carry  the  baby  ter  my  wife,  an'  come  back  fur 
you.  I  allowed  yer  could  n't  git  up  on  yer  feet ; "  and 
the  tall  form  disappeared.  The  baby,  thus  vigorously 
disturbed  from  her  warm  sleep,  began  to  cry. 

"Thank  God!"  said  Alessandro,  at  the  plunging 
horses'  heads.  "  The  child  is  alive  !  Majella ! "  he 
called. 

"  Yes,  Alessandro,"  she  answered  faintly,  the  gusts 
sweeping  her  voice  like  a  distant  echo  past  him. 

It  was  a  marvellous  rescue.  They  had  been  nearer 
the  old  sheep-corral  than  Alessandro  had  thought ; 
but  except  that  other  storm-beaten  travellers  had 
reached  it  before  them,  Alessandro  had  never  found 
it.  Just  as  he  felt  his  strength  failing  him,  and  had 
thought  to  himself,  in  almost  the  same  despairing 
words  as  Earnona,  "This  will  end  all  our  troubles," 
he  saw  a  faint  light  to  the  left.  Instantly  he  had 
turned  the  horses'  heads  towards  it.  The  ground  was 
rough  and  broken,  and  more  than  once  he  had  been  in 
danger  of  overturning  the  wagon  ;  but  he  had  pressed 
on,  shouting  at  intervals  for  help.  At  last  his  call 
was  answered,  and  another  light  appeared  ;  this  time 
a  swinging  one,  coming  slowly  towards  him,  —  a 
lantern,  in  the  hand  of  a  man,  whose  first  words. 


RAMON  A.  381 

"  Wall,  stranger,  I  allow  yer  inter  trouble,"  were  as 
intelligible  to  Alessandro  as  if  they  had  been  spoken 
in  the  purest  San  Luiseno  dialect. 

Not  so,  to  the  stranger,  Alessandro's  grateful  reply 
in  Spanish. 

"Another  o'  these  no-'count  Mexicans,  by  thunder  ! " 
thought  Jeff  Hyer  to  himself.  "  Blamed  ef  I  'd  lived 
in  a  country  all  my  life,  ef  I  would  n't  know  better  'n 
to  git  caught  out  in  such  weather  's  this  ! "  And  as 
he  put  the  crying  babe  into  his  wife's  arms,  he  said 
half  impatiently,  "Ef  I  'd  knowed  't  wuz  Mexicans, 
Hi,  I  would  n't  ev'  gone  out  ter  'um.  They  're  more 
ter  hum  'n  I  am,  'n  these  yer  tropicks." 

"Naow,  Jeff,  yer  know  yer  would  n't  let  enny- 
thin'  in  shape  ev  a  human  creetur  go  perishin'  past 
aour  fire  sech  weather 's  this,"  replied  the  woman,  as 
she  took  the  baby,  which  recognized  the  motherly 
hand  at  its  first  touch,  and  ceased  crying. 

"  Why,  yer  pooty,  blue-eyed  little  thing  ! "  she 
exclaimed,  as  she  looked  into  the  baby's  face.  "I 
declar,  Jos,  think  o'  sech  a  mite 's  this  bein'  aout  'n 
this  weather.  I  '11  jest  warm  up  some  milk  for  it 
this  minnit." 

"  Better  see 't  th'  mother  fust,  Ei,"  said  Jeff,  lead 
ing,  half  carrying,  Ramona  into  the  hut.  "  She 's  nigh 
abaout  froze  stiff ! " 

But  the  sight  of  her  baby  safe  and  smiling  was  a 
better  restorative  for  Eamona  than  anything  else, 
and  in  a  few  moments  she  had  fully  recovered.  It 
was  in  a  strange  group  she  found  herself.  On  a 
mattress,  in  the  corner  of  the  hut,  lay  a  young  man 
apparently  about  twenty-five,  whose  bright  eyes  and 
flushed  cheeks  told  but  too  plainly  the  story  of  his 
disease.  The  woman,  tall,  ungainly,  her  face  gaunt, 
her  hands  hardened  and  wrinkled,  gown  ragged, 
shoes  ragged,  her  dry  and  broken  light  hair  wound 
in  a  careless,  straggling  knot  in  her  neck,  wisps  of  it 


382  RAMON  A. 

flying  over  her  forehead,  was  certainly  not  a  pre 
possessing  figure.  Yet  spite  of  her  careless,  un 
kempt  condition,  there  was  a  certain  gentle  dignity 
in  her  bearing,  and  a  kindliness  in  her  glance,  which 
won  trust  and  wanned  hearts  at  once.  Her  pale  hlue 
eves  were  still  keen-sighted  ;  and  as  she  fixed  them 
on  llamona,  she  thought  to  herself,  "  This  ain't  no 
common  Mexican,  no  how."  "  Be  ye  movers  ? "  she 
said. 

Ramona  stared.  In  the  little  English  she  knew, 
that  word  was  not  included.  "  Ah,  Sefiora,"  she  said 
regretfully,  "  I  cannot  talk  in  the  English  speech ; 
only  in  Spanish." 

"  Spanish,  eh  ?  Yer  mean  Mexican  ?  Jos,  hyar,  he 
kin  talk  thet.  He  can't  talk  much,  though  ;  't  ain  't 
good  fur  him  ;  his  lungs  is  out  er  kilter.  Thet 's  what 
we  're  bringin'  him  hyar  fur,  —  fur  warm  climate  ! 
'pears  like  it,  don't  it  ?  "  and  she  chuckled  grimly, 
but  with  a  side  glance  of  ineffable  tenderness  at  the 
sick  man.  "  Ask  her  who  they  be,  Jos,"  she  added. 

Jos  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  fixing  his  shin 
ing  eyes  on  Earnona,  said  in  Spanish,  "  My  mother 
asks  if  you  are  travellers  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ramona.  "  We  have  come  all  the  way 
from  San  Diego.  We  are  Indians." 

"  Injuns  !  "  ejaculated  Jos's  mother.  "  Lord  save 
us,  Jos  !  Hev  we  reelly  took  in  Injuns  ?  What  on 
airth —  Well,  well,  she's  fond  uv  her  baby's  enny 
white  woman !  I  kin  see  thet ;  an',  Injun  or  no  Injun, 
they  Ve  got  to  stay  naow.  Yer  could  n't  turn  a  dog 
out  'n  sech  weather  's  this.  I  bet  thet  baby's  father 
wuz  white,  then.  Look  at  them  blue  eyes." 

Ramona  listened  and  looked  intently,  but  could 
understand  nothing.  Almost  she  doubted  if  the 
woman  were  really  speaking  English.  She  had  never 
before  heard  so  many  English  sentences  without 
being  able  to  understand  one  word.  The  Tennessee 


RAMONA.  383 

drawl  so  altered  even  the  commonest  words,  that  she 
did  not  recognize  them.  Turning  to  Jos,  she  said 
gently,  "I  know  very  little  English.  I  am  so  sorry  I 
cannot  understand.  Will  it  tire  you  to  interpret  to, 
me  what  your  mother  said  ? " 

Jos  was  as  full  of  humor  as  his  mother.  "  She* 
wants  me  to  tell  her  what  you  wuz  sayin',"  he  said. 
"  I  allow,  I  '11  only  tell  her  the  part  on 't  she  11  like 
best.  —  My  mother  says  you  can  stay  here  with  us 
till  the  storm  is  over,"  he  said  to  Kainona. 

Swifter  than  lightning,  Eamoua  had  seized  the 
woman's  hand  and  carried  it  to  her  heart,  with 
an  expressive  gesture  of  gratitude  and  emotion. 
"  Thanks  !  thanks  !  Senora  ! "  she  cried. 

"What  is  it  she  calls  me,  Jos  ?"  asked  his  mother. 

"  Senora,"  he  replied.  "  It  only  means  the  same  as 
lady." 

"  Shaw,  Jos  !  You  tell  her  I  ain't  any  lady.  Tell 
her  everybody  round  where  we  1  ive  calls  me  '  Aunt 
Ei,'  or  '  Mis  Hyer ;'  she  kin  call  me  whichever  she  's  a 
mind  to.  She 's  reel  sweet-spoken." 

With  some  difficulty  Jos  explained  his  mother's 
disclaimer  of  the  title  of  Senora,  and  the  choice  of 
names  she  offered  to  Eamona. 

Eamona,  with  smiles  which  won  both  mother  and 
son,  repeated  after  him  both  names,  getting  neither 
exactly  right  at  first  trial,  and  finally  said,  "I  like 
'  Aunt  Ei '  best ;  she  is  so  kind,  like  aunt,  to  every 
one." 

"  ISTaow,  ain't  thet  queer,  Jos,"  said  Aunt  Ei,  "  aout 
here  'n  thes  wilderness  to  ketch  sumbody  sayin'  thet, 
—jest  what  they  all  say  ter  hum?  I  donno 's  I'm 
enny  kinder  'n  ennybody  else.  I  don't  want  ter  see 
ennybody  put  upon,  nor  noways  sufferin',  of  so  be 's 
I  kin  help ;  but  thet  ain't  ennythin'  stronary,  ez 
I  know.  I  donno  how  ennybody  could  feel  enny 
different." 


384  BAMONA. 

"  There 's  lots  doos,  mammy,"  replied  Jos,  affection 
ately.  "  Yer  'd  find  out  fast  enuf,  ef  yer  went  raound 
more.  There  's  mighty  few  's  good  's  you  air  ter 
everybody." 

liamoua  was  crouching  in  the  corner  by  the  fire, 
her  baby  held  close  to  her  breast.  The  place  which 
i  at  first  had  seemed  a  haven  of  warmth,  she  now  saw 
was  indeed  but  a  poor  shelter  against  the  fearful 
storm  which  raged  outside.  It  was  only  a  hut  of 
rough  boards,  carelessly  knocked  together  for  a  shep 
herd's  temporary  home.  It  had  been  long  unused, 
and  many  of  the  boards  were  loose  and  broken. 
Through  these  crevices,  at  every  blast  of  the  wind, 
the  fine  snow  swirled.  On  the  hearth  were  burning 
a  few  sticks  of  wood,  dead  cottonwood  branches, 
which  Jeff  Hyer  had  hastily  collected  before  the 
storm  reached  its  height.  A  few  more  sticks  lay  by 
the  hearth.  Aunt  Hi  glanced  at  them  anxiously. 
A  poor  provision  for  a  night  in  the  snow.  "  Be  ye 
warm,  Jos  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  very,  mammy,"  lie  said ;  "  but  I  ain't  cold, 
nuther ;  an'  thet  's  somethin'." 

It  was  the  way  in  the  Hyer  family  to  make  the 
best  of  things  ;  they  had  always  possessed  this  virtue 
to  such  an  extent,  that  they  suffered  from  it  as  from  a 
vice.  There  was  hardly  to  be  found  in  all  Southern 
Tennessee  a  more  contented,  shiftless,  ill-bestead  fam 
ily  than  theirs.  But  there  was  no  grumbling.  What 
ever  went  wrong,  whatever  was  lacking,  it  was  "jest 
like  aour  luck,"  they  said,  and  did  nothing,  or  next  to 
nothing,  about  it.  Good-natured,  affectionate,  humor 
ous  people ;  after  all,  they  got  more  comfort  out  of 
life  than  many  a  family  whose  surface  conditions 
were  incomparably  better  than  theirs.  When  Jos, 
their  oldest  child  and  only  son,  broke  down,  had 
hemorrhage  after  hemorrhage,  and  the  doctor  said 
the  only  thing  that  could  save  him  was  to  go  across 


RAMON  A.  335 

the  plains  in  a  wagon  to  California,  they  said,  "  What 
good  luck  'Lizy  was  married  last  year !  Now  there 
ain't  im thin'  ter  hinder  sellin'  the  farm  '11  goin'  right 
off."  And  they  sold  their  little  place  for  half  it 
was  worth,  traded  cattle  for  a  pair  of  horses  and  a 
covered  wagon,  and  set  off,  half  beggared,  with  their 
sick  boy  on  a  bed  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  as 
cheery  as  if  they  were  rich  people  on  a  pleasure-trip. 
A  pair  of  steers  "  to  spell "  the  horses,  and  a  cow  to 
give  milk  for  Jos,  they  drove  before  them;  and  so 
they  had  come  by  slow  stages,  sometimes  camping  for 
a  week  at  a  time,  all  the  way  from  Tennessee  to  the 
San  Jacinto  Valley.  They  were  rewarded.  Jos  was 
getting  well.  Another  six  months,  they  thought, 
would  see  him  cured ;  and  it  would  have  gone  hard 
with  any  one  who  had  tried  to  persuade  either  Jeffer 
son  or  Maria  Hyer  that  they  were  not  as  lucky 
a  couple  as  could  be  found.  Had  they  not  saved 
Joshua,  their  son  ? 

Nicknames  among  this  class  of  poor  whites  in  the 
South  seern  singularly  like  those  in  vogue  in  New 
England.  From  totally  opposite  motives,  the  lazy, 
easy-going  Tennesseean  and  the  hurry-driven  Ver- 
monter  cut  down  all  their  family  names  to  the 
shortest.  To  speak  three  syllables  where  one  will 
answer,  seems  to  the  Vermonter  a  waste  of  time ;  to 
the  Tennesseean,  quite  too  much  trouble.  Mrs.  Hyer 
could  hardly  recollect  ever  having  heard  her  name, 
"  Maria,"  in  full ;  as  a  child,  and  until  she  was  mar 
ried,  she  was  simply  "  Ei ;"  and  as  soon  as  she  had  a 
house  of  her  own,  to  become  a  centre  of  hospitality 
and  help,  she  was  adopted  by  common  consent  of 
the  neighborhood,  in  a  sort  of  titular  and  universal 
aunt-hood,  which  really  was  a  much  greater  tribute 
and  honor  than  she  dreamed.  Not  a  man,  woman,  or 
child,  within  her  reach,  that  did  not  call  her  or  know 
of  her  as  "  Aunt  Ei." 

25 


386  RAMON  A. 

"I  donno  whether  I'd  best  make  enny  more  fire 
naow  or  not,"  she  said  reflectively ;  "  ef  this  storm  's 
goin'  to  last  till  mornin',  we  '11  come  short  o'  wood, 
thet's  clear."  As  she  spoke,  the  door  of  the  hut 
burst  open,  and  her  husband  staggered  in,  followed 
by  Alessandro,  both  covered  with  snow,  their  arms 
full  of  wood.  Alessandro,  luckily,  knew  of  a  little 
clump  of  young  cottonwood-trees  in  a  ravine,  only  a 
few  rods  from  the  house ;  and  the  first  thing  he  had 
thought  of,  after  tethering  the  horses  in  shelter  be 
tween  the  hut  and  the  wagons,  was  to  get  wood.  Jeff, 
seeing  him  take  a  hatchet  from  the  wagon,  had  un 
derstood,  got  his  own,  and  followed ;  and  now  there 
lay  on  the  ground  enough  to  keep  them  warm  for 
hours.  As  soon  as  Alessandro  had  thrown  down  his 
load,  he  darted  to  Eamona,  and  kneeling  down,  looked 
anxiously  into  the  baby's  face,  then  into  hers ;  then 
he  said  devoutly,  "The  saints  be  praised,  my  Majella  ! 
It  is  a  miracle  !  " 

Jos  listened  in  dismay  to  this  ejaculation.  "Ef 
they  ain't  Catholics!"  he  thought.  "What  kind  o' 
Injuns  be  they,  I  wonder.  I  won't  tell  mammy 
they  're  Catholics  ;  she  'd  feel  wuss  'n  ever.  I  don't 
care  what  they  be.  Thet  gal 's  got  the  sweetest 
eyes  'n  her  head  ever  I  saw  sence  I  wuz  born." 

By  help  of  Jos's  interpreting,  the  two  families  soon 
became  well  acquainted  with  each  other's  condition 
and  plans ;  and  a  feeling  of  friendliness,  surprising 
under  the  circumstances,  grew  up  between  them. 

"  Jeff, "  said  Aunt  Hi,  —  "  Jeff,  they  can't  under 
stand  a  word  we  say,  so  't  's  no  harm  done,  I  s'pose, 
to  speak  afore  'em,  though  't  don't  seem  hardly  fair  to 
take  advantage  o'  their  not  knowin'  any  language  but 
their  own  ;  but  I  jest  tell  you  thet  I  've  got  a  lesson  'n 
the  subjeck  uv  Injuns.  I  Ve  always  lied  a  reel  mean 
feelin'  about  'em ;  I  did  n't  want  ter  come  nigh  'em, 
nor  ter  hev  'em  come  nigh  me.  This  woman,  here, 


KAMONA.  387 

she  's  ez  sweet  a  creetur  's  ever  I  see ;  V  ez  bound  up  'n 
thet  baby 's  yer  could  ask  enuy  woman  to  be ;  '11'  's 
fur  thet  man,  can't  yer  see,  Jeff,  he  jest  worships  the 
ground  she  walks  on  ?  Thet 's  a  fact,  Jeff.  I  donno  's 
ever  I  see  a  white  man  think  so  much  uv  a  woman ; 
come,  naow,  Jeff,  d'  yer  think  yer  ever  did  yerself  ? " 

Aunt  Ei  was  excited.  The  experience  was,  to  her, 
almost  incredible.  Her  ideas  of  Indians  had  been 
drawn  from  newspapers,  and  from  a  book  or  two  of 
narratives  of  massacres,  and  from  an  occasional  sight 
of  vagabond  bands  or  families  they  had  encountered 
in  their  journey  across  the  plains.  Here  she  found 
herself  sitting  side  by  side  in  friendly  intercourse 
with  an  Indian  man  and  Indian  woman,  whose  ap 
pearance  and  behavior  were  attractive ;  towards  whom 
she  felt  herself  singularly  drawn. 

"  I  'm  free  to  confess,  Jos,"  she  said,  "  I  would  n't 
ha'  bleeved  it.  I  hain't  seen  nobody,  black,  white,  or 
gray,  sence  we  left  hum,  I  've  took  to  like  these  yere 
folks.  An'  they  're  real  dark  ;  's  dark  's  any  nigger 
in  Tennessee ;  'n'  he  's  pewer  Injun ;  her  father  wuz 
white,  she  sez,  but  she  don't  call  herself  nothin'  but 
an  Injun,  the  same  's  he  is.  I)'  yer  notice  the  way 
she  looks  at  him,  Jos  ?  Don't  she  jest  set  a  store  by 
thet  feller  ?  'N'  I  don't  blame  her." 

Indeed,  Jos  had  noticed.  No  man  was  likely  to  see 
Eamona  with  Alessandro  without  perceiving  the  rare 
quality  of  her  devotion  to  him.  And  now  there  was 
added  to  this  devotion  an  element  of  indefinable  anx 
iety  which  made  its  vigilance  unceasing.  Eamona 
feared  for  Alessandro's  reason.  She  had  hardly  put 
it  into  words  to  herself,  but  the  terrible  fear  dwelt 
with  her.  She  felt  that  another  blow  would  be  more 
than  he  could  bear. 

The  storm  lasted  only  a  few  hours.  When  it 
cleared,  the  valley  was  a  solid  expanse  of  white,  and 
the  stars  shone  out  as  if  in  an  Arctic  sky. 


388  RAMONA. 

"It  will  be  all  gone  by  noon  to-morrow,"  said 
Alessandro  to  Jos,  who  was  dreading  the  next  day. 

"Not  really!"  lie  said. 

"  You  will  see,"  said  Alessandro.  "  I  have  often 
known  it  thus.  It  is  like  death  while  it  lasts ;  but  it 
is  never  long." 

The  Hyers  were  on  their  way  to  some  hot  springs 
on  the  north  side  of  the  valley.  Here  they  proposed 
to  camp  for  three  months,  to  try  the  waters  for  Jos. 
They  had  a  tent,  and  all  that  was  necessary  for  living 
in  their  primitive  fashion.  Aunt  Hi  was  looking  for 
ward  to  the  rest  with  great  anticipation;  she  was 
heartily  tired  of  being  on  the  move.  Her  husband's 
anticipations  were  of  a  more  stirring  nature.  He  had 
heard  that  there  was  good  hunting  on  San  Jacinto 
Mountain.  When  he  found  that  Alessandro  knew 
the  region  thoroughly  and  had  been  thinking  of  set- 

O  O          *•/    '  O 

tling  there,  he  was  rejoiced,  and  proposed  to  him  to 
become  his  companion  and  guide  in  hunting  expe 
ditions.  Eamona  grasped  eagerly  at  the  suggestion ; 
companionship,  she  was  sure,  would  do  Alessandro 
good,  —  companionship,  the  outdoor  life,  and  the  ex 
citement  of  hunting,  of  which  he  was  fond.  This 
hot-spring  canon  was  only  a  short  distance  from  the 
Saboba  village,  of  which  they  had  spoken  as  a  pos 
sible  home ;  which  she  had  from  the  first  desired  to 
try.  She  no  longer  had  repugnance  to  the  thought 
of  an  Indian  village  ;  she  already  felt  a  sense  of  kin 
ship  and  shelter  with  any  Indian  people.  She  had 
become,  as  Carmena  had  said,  "  one  of  them." 

A  few  days  saw  the  two  families  settled,  —  the 
Hyers  in  their  tent  and  wagon,  at  the  hot  springs,  and 
Alessandro  and  Ramona,  with  the  baby,  in  a  little 
adobe  house  in  the  Saboba  village.  The  house  be 
longed  to  an  old  Indian  woman  who,  her  husband 
having  died,  had  gone  to  live  with  a  daughter,  and 
was  very  glad  to  get  a  few  dollars  by  renting  her  own 


RAMON  A.  389 

house.  It  was  a  wretched  place  :  one  small  room, 
walled  with  poorly  made  adobe  bricks,  thatched  with 
tule,  no  floor,  and  only  one  window.  When  Alessan- 
dro  heard  Eamona  say  cheerily,  "  Oh,  this  will  do  very 
well,  when  it  is  repaired  a  little,"  his  face  was  con 
vulsed,  and  he  turned  away  ;  but  he  said  nothing.  It 
was  the  only  house  to  be  had  in  the  village,  and  there 
were  few  better.  Two  months  later,  no  one  would 
have  known  it.  Alessandro  had  had  good  luck  in 
hunting.  Two  fine  deerskins  covered  the  earth  floor  ; 
a  third  was  spread  over  the  bedstead ;  and  the  horns, 
hung  on  the  walls,  served  for  hooks  to  hang  clothes 
upon.  The  scarlet  calico  canopy  was  again  set  up 
over  the  bed,  and  the  woven  cradle,  on  its  red  manza- 
nita  frame,  stood  near.  A  small  window  in  the  door, 
and  one  more  cut  in  the  walls,  let  in  light  and  air. 
On  a  shelf  near  one  of  these  windows  stood  the 
little  Madonna,  again  wreathed  with  vines  as  in  San 
Pasquale. 

When  Aunt  Ki  first  saw  the  room,  after  it  was  thus 
arranged,  she  put  both  arms  akimbo,  and  stood  in 
the  doorway,  her  mouth  wide  open,  her  eyes  full  of 
wonder.  Finally  her  wonder  framed  itself  in  an  ejac 
ulation  :  "  Wall,  I  allow  yer  air  fixed  up  !" 

Aunt  Pti,  at  her  best  estate,  had  never  possessed  a 
room  which  had  the  expression  of  this  poor  little  mud 
hut  of  Ramona's.  She  could  not  understand  it.  The 
more  she  studied  the  place,  the  less  she  understood  it. 
On  returning  to  the  tent,  she  said  to  Jos  :  "  It  beats 
all  ever  I  see,  the  way  thet  Injun  woman  's  got  fixed 
up  out  er  nothin'.  It  ain't  no  more  'n  a  hovel,  a  mud 
hovel,  Jos,  not  much  bigger  'n  this  yer  tent,  fur  all 
three  on  'em,  an'  the  bed  an'  the  stove  an'  everythin' ; 
an'  I  vow,  Jos,  she  's  fixed  it  so  't  looks  jest  like  a 
parlor !  It  beats  me,  it  doos.  I  'd  jest  like  you  to 
see  it." 

And  when  Jos  saw  it,  and  Jeff,  they  were  as  full 


390  RAMONA. 

of  wonder  as  Awnt  Ei  had  been.  Dimly  they  recog 
nized  the  existence  of  a  principle  here  which  had 
never  entered  into  their  life.  They  did  not  know  it 
by  name,  and  it  could  not  have  been  either  taught 

J  '  O 

transferred,  or  explained  to  the  good-hearted  wife  and 
mother  who  had  been  so  many  years  the  affectionate 
disorderly  genius  of  their  home.  But  they  felt  its 
charm ;  and  when,  one  day,  after  the  return  of  Ales- 
sandro  and  Jeff  from  a  particularly  successful  hunt, 
the  two  families  had  sat  down  together  to  a  supper 
of  Eamona's  cooking,  —  stewed  venison  and  arti 
chokes,  and  frijoles  with  chili,  —  their  wonder  was 
still  greater. 

"  Ask  her  if  this  is  Injun  style  of  cooking,  Jos," 
said  Aunt  Ei.  "  I  never  thought  nothin'  o'  beans ;  but 
these  air  good,  'n'  no  mistake  !" 

Eamona  laughed.  "  No  ;  it  is  Mexican,"  she  said. 
"  I  learned  to  cook  from  an  old  Mexican  woman." 

"  Wall,  I  'd  like  the  receipt  on  't ;  but  1  allow  I 
should  n't  never  git  the  time  to  fuss  with  it,"  said 
Aunt  Ei ;  "  but  I  may  's  well  git  the  rule,  naow  I  'm 
here." 

Alessandro  began  to  lose  some  of  his  gloom.  He 
had  earned  money.  He  had  been  lifted  out  of  him 
self  by  kindly  companionship  ;  he  saw  Eamona  cheer 
ful,  the  little  one  sunny ;  the  sense  of  home,  the 
strongest  passion  Alessandro  possessed,  next  to  his 
love  for  Eamona,  began  again  to  awake  in  him.  He 
began  to  talk  about  building  a  house.  He  had  found 
things  in  the  village  better  than  he  feared.  It  was 
but  a  poverty-stricken  little  handful,  to  be  sure  ;  still, 
they  were  unmolested ;  the  valley  was  large ;  their 
,  stock  ran  free ;  the  few  white  settlers,  one  at  the 
upper  end  and  two  or  three  on  the  south  side,  had 
manifested  no  disposition  to  crowd  the  Indians;  the 
Eavallo  brothers  were  living  on  the  estate  still,  and 
there  was  protection  in  that,  Alessandro  thought. 


RAMONA.  391 

And  Majella  was  content.  Majella  had  found  friends. 
Something,  not  quite  hope,  but  akin  to  it,  began  to 
stir  in  Alessandro's  heart.  He  would  build  a  house ; 
Majella  should  no  longer  live  in  this  mud  hut.  But 
to  his  surprise,  when  he  spoke  of  it,  liamona  said 
no ;  they  had  all  they  needed,  now.  Was  not  Ales- 
.  sandro  comfortable  ?  She  was.  It  would  be  wise  to 
wait  longer  before  building. 

Rarnona  knew  many  things  that  Alessandro  did 
not.  While  he  had  been  away  on  his  hunts,  she  had 
had  speech  with  many  a  one  he  never  saw.  She  had 
gone  to  the  store  and  post-office  several  times,  to  ex 
change  baskets  or  lace  for  flour,  and  she  had  heard 
talk  there  which  disquieted  her.  She  did  not  believe 
that  Saboba  was  safe.  One  day  she  had  heard  a  man 
say,  "  If  there  is  a  drought  we  shall  have  the  devil 
to  pay  with  our  stock  before  winter  is  over."  "  Yes," 
said  another ;  "  and  look  at  those  damned  Indians 
over  there  in  Saboba,  with  water  running  all  the 
time  in  their  village !  It 's  a  shame  they  should 
have  that  spring  ! " 

Not  for  worlds  would  Eamona  have  told  this  to 
Alessaudro.  She  kept  it  locked  in  her  own  breast, 
but  it  rankled  there  like  a  ceaseless  warning  and 
prophecy.  When  she  reached  home  that  day  she  went 
down  to  the  spring  in  the  centre  of  the  village,  and 
stood  a  long  time  looking  at  the  bubbling  water.  It 
was  indeed  a  priceless  treasure ;  a  long  irrigating  ditch 
led  from  it  down  into  the  bottom,  where  lay  the  cul 
tivated  fields, — many  acres  in  wheat,  barley,  and 
vegetables.  Alessandro  himself  had  fields  there  from 
which  they  would  harvest  all  they  needed  for  the 
'horses  and  their  cow  all  winter,  in  case  pasturage 
failed.  If  the  whites  took  away  this  water,  Saboba 
would  be  ruined.  However,  as  the  spring  began  in 
the  very  heart  of  the  village,  they  could  not  take  it 
without  destroying  the  village.  "  And  the  Eavallos 


392  RAMONA. 

would  surely  never  let  that  be  done,"  thought  Eamona. 
"  While  they  live,  it  will  not  happen." 

It  was  a  sad  day  for  Bamona  and  Alessandro 
when  the  kindly  Hyers  pulled  up  their  tent-stakes 
and  left  the  valley.  Their  intended  three  months  had 
stretched  into  six,  they  had  so  enjoyed  the  climate, 
and  the  waters  had  seemed  to  do  such  good  to  Jos. 
But,  "  We  ain't  rich  folks,  yer  know,  not  by  a  long 
ways,  we  ain't,"  said  Aunt  Ei;  "  an'  we  Ve  got  pretty 
nigh  down  to  where  Jeff  an'  me  's  got  to  begin  airnin' 
suthin'.  Ef  we  kin  git  settled  'n  some  o'  these  towns 
where  there  's  carpenterin'  to  be  done.  Jeff,  he  's  a 
master  hand  to  thet  kind  o'  work,  though  yer  might  n't 
think  it ;  'n  I  kin  airn  right  smart  at  weaviu' ;  jest 
give  me  a  good  carpet-loom,  'n  I  won't  be  beholden 
to  nobody  for  vittles.  I  jest  du  love  weavin'.  I 
donno  how  I  've  contented  myself  this  hull  year,  or 
nigh  about  a  year,  without  a  loom.  Jeff,  he  sez  to  me 
once,  sez  he,  'Bi,  do  yer  think  yer'd  be  contented 
in  heaven  without  yer  loom  ? '  an'  I  was  free  to  say 
I  did  n't  know  's  I  should." 

"  Is  it  hard  ?  "  cried  Bamona.  "  Could  I  learn  to  do 
it  ? "  It  was  wonderful  what  progress  in  understand 
ing  and  speaking  English  Bamona  had  made  in  these 
six  months.  She  now  understood  nearly  all  that  was 
said  directly  to  her,  though  she  could  not  follow  gen 
eral  and  confused  conversation. 

"  Wall,  't  is,  an'  't  ain't,"  said  Aunt  Bi.  "  I  don't  s'pose 
I  'm  much  of  a  jedge ;  fur  I  can't  remember  when  I 
fust  learned  it.  I  know  I  set  in  the  loom  to  weave 
when  my  feet  could  n't  reach  the  floor ;  an'  I  don't 
remember  nothin'  about  fust  learnin'  to  spool  'n'  warp. 
I  've  tried  to  teach  lots  of  folks  ;  an'  sum  learns  quick, 
an'  some  don't  never  learn ;  it  's  jest  's  't  strikes  'em. 
I  should  think,  naow,  thet  you  wuz  one  o'  the  kind 
could  turn  yer  hand  to  anythin'.  When  we  get  set 
tled  in  San  Bernardino,  if  yer  '11  come  down  thar, 


RAMONA.  393 

I  11  teach  yer  all  I  know,  'n'  be  glad  ter.  I  donno  's 
't  's  goin'  to  be  much  uv  a  place  for  carpet-weavin' 
though,  anywheres  raound  'n  this  yer  country ;  not 
but  what  thar's  plenty  o'  rags,  but  folks  seems  to  be 
wearin'  'em ;  pooty  gen'ral  wear,  I  sh'd  say.  I  've 
seen  more  cloes  on  folks'  backs  hyar,  thet  wan't  no 
more  '11  fit  for  carpet-rags,  than  any  place  ever  I 
struck.  They  're  drefful  sheftless  lot,  these  yere  Mexi 
cans  ;  'n'  the  Injuns  is  wuss.  Naow  when  I  say  Injuns, 
I  don't  never  mean  yeow,  yer  know  thet.  Yer  ain't 
ever  seemed  to  me  one  mite  like  an  Injun." 

"  Most  of  our  people  have  n't  had  any  chance,"  said 
Eamona.  "  You  would  n't  believe  if  I  were  to  tell  you 
what  things  have  been  done  to  them ;  how  they  are 
robbed,  and  cheated,  and  turned  out  of  their  homes." 

Then  she  told  the  story  of  Temecula,  and  of  San 
Pasquale,  in  Spanish,  to  Jos,  who  translated  it  with 
no  loss  in  the  telling.  Aunt  Ei  was  aghast ;  she 
found  no  words  to  express  her  indignation. 

"  I  don't  bleeve  the  Guvvermunt  knows  anything 
about  it !  "  she  said.  "Why,  they  take  folks  up,  'n' 
penetentiarize  'em  fur  life,  back  'n  Tennessee,  fur 
things  thet  ain  't  so  bad  's  thet !  Somebody  ought 
ter  be  sent  ter  tell  'em  't  Washington  what  's  goin' 
on  hyar." 

"  I  think  it  's  the  people  in  Washington  that  have 
done  it,"  said  Eamona,  sadly.  "  Is  it  not  in  Washing 
ton  all  the  laws  are  made  ?  " 

"  I  bleeve  so  !  "  said  Aunt  Ei.  "  Ain't  it,  Jos  ? 
It 's  Congress  ain't  't,  makes  the  laws  ?  " 

"  I  bleeve  so  !  "  said  Jos.  "  They  make  some,  at 
any  rate.  I  donno  's  they  make  'em  all." 

"  It  is  all  done  by  the  American  law,"  said  Eamo 
na,  "  all  these  things  ;  nobody  can  help  himself;  for 
if  anybody  goes  against  the  law  he  has  to  be  killed 
or  put  in  prison  ;  that  was  what  the  sheriff  told  Ales- 
sandro,  at  Temecula.  He  felt  very  sorry  for  the  Te- 


394  RAMONA. 

mecula  people,  the  sheriff  did  ;  but  he  had  to  obey  the 
law  himself.  Alessandro  says  there  is  n  't  any  help." 

Aunt  Pd  shook  her  head.  She  was  not  convinced. 
"  I  sh'll  make  a  business  o'  findin'  out  abaout  this 
thing  yit,"  she  said.  "  I  think  yer  hain't  got  the 
rights  on  't  yit.  There  's  cheatin'  somewhere  ! " 

"  It 's  all  cheating  !  "  said  Earnona ;  "  but  there  is  n't 
any  help  for  it,  Aunt  Ei.  The  Americans  think  it  is 
no  shame  to  cheat  for  money." 

"  I  'in  an  Ummeriken  ! "  cried  Aunt  Ei ;  "  an'  Jeff 
Hyer,  and  Jos  !  We  're  Ummerikens  !  'n'  we  would  n't 
cheat  nobody,  not  ef  we  knowed  it,  not  out  er  a  dol- 
ler.  We  're  pore,  an'  I  allus  expect  to  be,  but  we  're 
above  cheatiri' ;  an'  I  tell  you,  naow,  the  Ummeriken 
people  don't  want  any  o'  this  cheatin'  done,  naow ! 
I  'm  going  to  ask  Jeff  haow  't  is.  Why,  it  's  a  burn- 
in'  shame  to  any  country !  So  't  is !  I  think  some 
thing  oughter  be  done  abaout  it !  I  would  n't  mind 
goiu'  myself,  ef  thar  wan't  anybody  else!" 

A  seed  had  been  sown  in  Aunt  Ei's  mind  which 
was  not  destined  to  die  for  want  of  soil.  She  was 
hot  with  shame  and  anger,  and  full  of  impulse  to  do 
something.  "  I  ain't  nobody,"  she  said  ;  "  I  know  thet 
well  enough,  —  I  ain't  nobody  nor  nothin' ;  but  I  al 
low  I  've  got  suthin'  to  say  abaout  the  country  I  live 
in,  'n'  the  way  things  hed  oughter  be ;  or  't  least  Jeff 
hez  ;  'n'  thet  's  the  same  thing.  I  tell  yer,  Jos,  I  ain't 
goin'  to  rest,  nor  ter  give  yeou  'n'  yer  father  no  rest 
nuther,  till  yeou  find  aout  what  all  this  yere  means 
she  's  been  tellin'  us." 

But  sharper  and  closer  anxieties  than  any  con 
nected  with  rights  to  lands  and  homes  were  pressing 
upon  Alessandro  and  Eamona.  All  summer  the  baby 
had  been  slowly  drooping ;  so  slowly  that  it  was  each 
day  possible  for  Eamona  to  deceive  herself,  thinking 
that  there  had  been  since  yesterday  no  loss,  perhaps  a 
little  gain;  but  looking  back  from  the  autumn  to  the 


RAMONA.  395 

spring,  and  now  from  the  winter  to  the  autumn,  there 
was  no  doubt  that  she  had  been  steadily  going  down. 
From  the  day  of  that  terrible  chill  in  the  snow-storm, 
she  had  never  been  quite  well,  Eamona  thought.  Be 
fore  that,  she  was  strong,  always  strong,  always  beau 
tiful  and  merry.  Now  her  pinched  little  face  was  sad 
to  see,  and  sometimes  for  hours  she  made  a  feeble 
wailing  cry  without  any  apparent  cause.  All  the 
simple  remedies  that  Aunt  Hi  had  known,  had  failed 
to  touch  her  disease ;  in  fact,  Aunt  Ei  from  the  first 
had  been  baffled  in  her  own  mind  by  the  child's 
symptoms.  Day  after  day  Alessandro  knelt  by  the 
cradle,  his  hands  clasped,  his  face  set.  Hour  after 
hour,  night  and  day,  indoors  and  out,  he  bore  her 
in  his  arms,  trying  to  give  her  relief.  Prayer  after 
prayer  to  the  Virgin,  to  the  saints,  liamona  had  said  ; 
and  candles  by  the  dozen,  though  money  was  now 
scant,  she  had  burned  before  the  Madonna ;  all  in 
vain.  At  last  she  implored  Alessandro  to  go  to  San 
Bernardino  and  see  a  doctor.  "  Find  Aunt  Ei,"  she 
said ;  "  she  will  go  with  you,  with  Jos,  and  talk  to 
him  ;  she  can  make  him  understand.  Tell  Aunt  Ki 
she  seems  just  as  she  did  when  they  were  here,  only 
weaker  and  thinner." 

Alessandro  found  Aunt  El  in  a  sort  of  shanty  on 
the  outskirts  of  San  Bernardino.  "  Not  to  rights  yit," 
she  said,  —  as  if  she  ever  would  be.  Jeff  had  found 
work ;  and  Jos,  too,  had  been  able  to  do  a  little  on 
pleasant  days.  He  had  made  a  loom  and  put  up  a 
loom-house  for  his  mother,  —  a  floor  just  large  enough 
to  hold  the  loom  ;  rough  walls,  and  a  roof;  one  small 
square  window,  —  that  was  all ;  but  if  Aunt  Ei  had 
been  presented  with  a  palace,  she  would  not  have  been 
so  well  pleased.  Already  she  had  woven  a  rag  carpet 
for  herself,  was  at  work  on  one  for  a  neighbor,  and 
had  promised  as  many  more  as  she  could  do  before 
spring  ;  the  news  of  the  arrival  of  a  rag-carpet  weaver 


396  RAMON  A. 

having  gone  with  despatch  all  through  the  lower  walks 
of  San  Bernardino  life.  "  I  would  n't  hev  bleeved 
they  hed  so  many  rags  besides  what  they  're  wearin','' 
said  Aunt  lii,  as  sack  after  sack  appeared  at  her  door. 
Already,  too,  Aunt  lii  had  gathered  up  the  threads  of 
the  village  life ;  in  her  friendly,  impressionable  way 
she  had  come  into  relation  with  scores  of  people,  and 
knew  who  was  who,  and  what  was  what,  and  why, 
among  them  all,  far  better  than  many  an  old  resident 
of  the  town. 

When  she  saw  Benito  galloping  up  to  her  door, 
she  sprang  down  from  her  high  stool  at  the  loom,  and 
ran  bareheaded  to  the  gate,  and  before  Alessandro  had 
dismounted,  cried :  "  Ye  're  jest  the  man  I  wanted ; 
I  've  been  tryin'  to  'range  it  so 's  we  could  go  down  '11' 
see  yer,  but  Jeff  could  n't  leave  the  job  he  's  got ;  an' 
I  'm  druv  nigh  abaout  off  my  feet,  'n'  I  donno  when 
we  'd  hev  fetched  it.  How  's  all  ?  Why  did  n't  yer 
come  in  ther  wagon  'u'  fetch  'em  'long  ?  I  've  got 
heaps  ter  tell  yer.  I  allowed  yer  had  n't  got  the  rights 
o'  all  them  things.  The  Guvvermunt  ain't  on  the  side 
o'  the  thieves,  as  yer  said.  I  knowed  they  could  n't  be  ; 
an'  they  've  jest  sent  out  a  man  a  purpose  to  look  after 
things  fur  yer,  —  to  take  keer  o'  the  Injuns  'n'  nothin' 
else.  Thet  's  what  he 's  here  fur.  He  come  last  month  ; 
he's  a  reel  nice  man.  I  seen  him  'n'  talked  with  him 
a  spell,  last  week ;  I  'm  gwine  to  make  his  wife  a  rag 
carpet.  'N'  there's  a  doctor,  too,  to  'tend  ter  yer 
when  ye 're  sick,  'n'  the  Guvvermunt  pays  him;  yer 
don't  hev  to  pay  nothin' ;  'n'  I  tell  yeow,  thet  's  a 
heap  o'  savin',  to  git  yer  docterin'  fur  nuthin'  !" 

Aunt  Hi  was  out  of  breath.  Alessandro  had  not  un 
derstood  half  she  said.  He  looked  about  helplessly 
for  Jos.  Jos  was  away.  In  his  broken  English  he 
tried  to  explain  what  Kamona  had  wished  her  to  do. 

"  Doctor !  Thet 's  jest  what  I  'm  tellin'  yer  !  There  's 
one  here  's  paid  by  the  Guvvermunt  to  'tend  to  all 


KAMONA.  397 

Injuns  thet  's  sick.  I  '11  go  'n'  show  yer  ter  his  house. 
I  kin  tell  him  jest  how  the  baby  is.  P'raps  he  '11 
drive  down  'n'  see  her  ! " 

Ah !  if  he  would  !  What  would  Majella  say,  should 
she  see  him  enter  the  door  bringing  a  doctor  ! 

Luckily  Jos  returned  in  time  to  go  with  them  to 
the  doctor's  house  as  interpreter.  Alessandro  was  be 
wildered.  He  could  not  understand  this  new  phase 
of  affairs.  Could  it  be  true  ?  As  they  walked  along, 
he  listened  with  trembling,  half-incredulous  hope  to 
Jos's  interpretation  of  Aunt  Ri's  voluble  narrative. 

The  doctor  was  in  his  office.  To  Aunt  Ei's  state 
ment  of  Alessandro's  errand  he  listened  indifferently, 
and  then  said,  "  Is  he  an  Agency  Indian  ?  " 

"  A  what  ?  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Ei. 

"  Does  he  belong  to  the  Agency  ?  Is  his  name  on 
the  Agency  books  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  she ;  "  he  never  heern  uv  any  Agency 
till  I  wuz  tellin'  him,  jest  naow.  We  knoo  him,  him 
'n'  her,  over  'n  San  Jacinto.  He  lives  in  Saboba. 
He 's  never  been  to  San  Bernardino  sence  the  Agent 
come  aout." 

"  Well,  is  he  going  to  put  his  name  down  on  the 
books  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  impatiently.  "  You  ought 
to  have  taken  him  to  the  Agent  first." 

"  Ain't  you  the  Guvvermunt  doctor  for  all  Injuns  ? " 
asked  Aunt  Ei,  wrathfully.  "  Thet 's  what  I  heerd." 

"  Well,  my  good  woman,  you  hear  a  great  deal,  I 
expect,  that  isn't  true;"  and  the  doctor  laughed 
coarsely  but  not  ill-naturedly,  Alessandro  all  the 
time  studying  his  face  with  the  scrutiny  of  one  await 
ing  life  and  death ;  "  I  am  the  Agency  physician, 
and  I  suppose  all  the  Indians  will  sooner  or  later 
come  in  and  report  themselves  to  the  Agent  ;  you  'd 
better  take  this  man  over  there.  What  does  he  want 
now  ? " 

Aunt  Ei  began  to  explain  the  baby's  case.  Cutting 


398  RAM  ON  A. 

her  short,  the  doctor  said,  "  Yes,  yes,  I  understand. 
I  11  give  him  something  that  will  help  her ; "  and 
going  into  an  inner  room,  he  brought  out  a  bottle 
of  dark-colored  liquid,  wrote  a  few  lines  of  prescrip 
tion,  and  handed  it  to  Alessandro,  saying,  "  That  will 
do  her  good,  I  guess." 

"  Thanks,  Senor,  thanks,"  said  Alessandro. 

The  doctor  stared.  "That's  the  first  Indian's  said 
'  Thank  you  '  in  this  office,"  he  said.  "  You  tell  the 
Agent  you  've  brought  him  a  rara  avis." 

"  What 's  that,  Jos  ? "  said  Aunt  Hi,  as  they  went 
out. 

"  Donno  !  "  said  Jos.  "  I  don't  like  thet  man,  any 
how,  mammy.  He  's  no  good." 

Alessandro  looked  at  the  bottle  of  medicine  like  one 
in  a  dream.  Would  it  make  the  baby  well  ?  Had  it 
indeed  been  given  to  him  by  that  great  Government 
in  Washington  ?  Was  he  to  be  protected  now  ?  Could 
this  man,  wrho  had  been  sent  out  to  take  care  of 
Indians,  get  back  his  San  Pasquale  farm  for  him  ? 
Alessandro's  brain  was  in  a  whirl. 

From  the  doctor's  office  they  went  to  the  Agent's 
house.  Here,  Aunt  Ei  felt  herself  more  at  home. 

"  I  've  brought  ye  thet  Injun  I  wuz  tellin'  ye  uv," 
she  said,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  toward  Alessandro. 
"  We  've  ben  ter  ther  doctor's  to  git  some  metcen  fur 
his  baby.  She  's  reel  sick,  I  'm  afeerd." 

The  Agent  sat  down  at  his  desk,  opened  a  large 
ledger,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "The  man's  never  been 
here  before,  has  he  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Aunt  Pd. 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

Jos  gave  it,  and  the  Agent  began  to  write  it  in  the 
book.  "Stop  him!"  cried  Alessandro,  agitatedly,  to 
Jos.  "  Don't  let  him  write,  till  I  know  what  he  puts 
my  name  in  his  book  for  ! " 

"  Wait,"  said  Jos.     "  He  does  n't  want  you  to  write 


RAMONA.  399 

his  name  in  that  book.  He  wants  to  know  what  it 's 
put  there  for." 

Wheeling  his  chair  with  a  look  of  suppressed  im 
patience,  yet  trying  to  speak  kindly,  the  Agent  said  : 
"  There 's  no  making  these  Indians  understand  any 
thing.  They  seem  to  think  if  I  have  their  names  in 
njy  book,  it  gives  me  some  power  over  them." 

"  Wall,  don't  it  ? "  said  the  direct-minded  Aunt  Ei. 
"  Hain't  yer  got  any  power  over  'em  ?  If  yer  hain't 
got  it  over  them,  who  have  yer  got  it  over  ?  What 
yer  goiu'  to  do  for  'em  ?  " 

The  Agent  laughed  in  spite  of  himself.  "Well, 
Aunt  Ei,"  —  she  was  already  "  Aunt  Ei"  to  the 
Agent's  boys, — "that's  just  the  trouble  with  this 
Agency.  It  is  very  different  from  what  it  would  be 
if  I  had  all  my  Indians  on  a  reservation." 

Alessandro  understood  the  words  "  my  Indians." 
He  had  heard  them  before. 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  his  Indians,  Jos  ? "  he 
asked  fiercely.  "  I  will  not  have  my  name  in  his 
book  if  it  makes  me  his." 

When  Jos  reluctantly  interpreted  this,  the  Agent 
lost  his  temper.  "  That 's  all  the  use  there  is  trying 
to  do  anything  with  them  !  Let  him  go,  then,  if  he 
does  n't  want  any  help  from  the  Government ! " 

"  Oh,  no,  no  ! "  cried  Aunt  Ei.  "  Yeow  jest  explain 
it  to  Jos,  an'  he  '11  make  him  understand." 

Alessandro's  face  had  darkened.  All  this  seemed 
to  him  exceedingly  suspicious.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  Aunt  Ei  and  Jos,  the  first  whites  except  Mr. 
Hartsel  he  had  ever  trusted,  were  deceiving  him  ? 
No  ;  that  was  impossible.  But  they  themselves  might 
be  deceived.  That  they  were  simple  and  ignorant, 
Alessandro  well  knew.  "  Let  us  go  ! "  he  said.  "  I 
do  not  wish  to  sign  any  paper." 

"  Naow  don't  be  a  fool,  will  yeow  ?  Yeow  ain't  sign- 
in'  a  thing  ! "  said  Aunt  Ei.  "  Jos,  yeow  tell  him  I  say 


400  RAMONA. 

there  ain't  anythin'  a  bindin'  him,  hevin'  his  name  'n* 
thet  book.  It 's  only  so  the  Agent  kin  know  what 
Injuns  wants  help,  'n'  where  they  air.  Ain't  thet 
so  ? "  she  added,  turning  to  the  Agent.  "  Tell  him 
he  can't  hev  the  Agency  doctor,  ef  he  ain't  on  the 
Agency  books." 

Not  have  the  doctor  ?  Give  up  this  precious  medi 
cine  which  might  save  his  baby's  life  ?  No  !  he  could 
not  do  that.  Majella  would  say,  let  the  name  be 
written,  rather  than  that. 

"  Let  him  write  the  name,  then,"  said  Alessandro, 
doggedly ;  but  he  went  out  of  the  room  feeling  as  if 
he  had  put  a  chain  around  his  neck. 


XXIII. 

THE  medicine  did  the  baby  no  good.  In  fact,  it 
did  her  harm.  She  was  too  feeble  for  violent 
remedies.  In  a  week,  Alessandro  appeared  again  at 
the  Agency  doctor's  door.  This  time  he  had  come 
with  a  request  which  to  his  mind  seemed  not  unrea 
sonable.  He  had  brought  Baba  for  the  doctor  to  ride. 
Could  the  doctor  then  refuse  to  go  to  Saboba  ?  Baba 
would  carry  him  there  in  three  hours,  and  it  would 
be  like  a  cradle  all  the  way.  Alessandro's  name  was 
in  the  Agency  books.  It  was  for  this  he  had  written 
it,  —  for  this  and  nothing  else,  —  to  save  the  baby's 
life.  Having  thus  enrolled  himself  as  one  of  the 
Agency  Indians,  he  had  a  claim  on  this  the  Agency 
doctor.  And  that  his  application  might  be  all  in  due 
form,  he  took  with  him  the  Agency  interpreter.  He 
had  had  a  misgiving,  before,  that  Aunt  Hi's  kindly 
volubility  had  not  been  well  timed.  Not  one  un 
necessary  word,  was  Alessandro's  motto. 

To  say  that  the  Agency  doctor  was  astonished  at 
being  requested  to  ride  thirty  miles  to  prescribe  for 
an  ailing  Indian  baby,  would  be  a  mild  statement  of 
the  doctor's  emotion.  He  could  hardly  keep  from 
laughing,  when  it  was  made  clear  to  him  that  this 
was  what  the  Indian  father  expected. 

"  Good  Lord  ! "  he  said,  turning  to  a  crony  who 
chanced  to  be  lounging  in  the  office.  "  Listen  to 
that  beggar,  will  you  ?  I  wonder  what  he  thinks  the 
Government  pays  me  a  year  for  doctoring  Indians  ! " 

Alessandro  listened  so  closely  it  attracted  the  doc 
tor's  attention.  "  Do  you  understand  English  ? "  ha 
asked  sharply. 

26 


402  RAMONA. 

"  A  very  little,  Senor,"  replied  Alessandro. 

The  doctor  would  be  more  careful  in  his  speech, 
then.  But  he  made  it  most  emphatically  clear  that 
the  thing  Alessandro  had  asked  was  not  only  out  of 
the  question,  but  preposterous.  Alessandro  pleaded 
For  the  child's  sake  he  could  do  it.  The  horse  was 
at  the  door;  there  was  no  such  horse  in  San  Ber-' 
nardino  County ;  he  went  like  the  wind,  and  one 
would  not  know  he  was  in  motion,  it  was  so  easy. 
Would  not  the  doctor  come  down  and  look  at.  the 
horse  ?  Then  he  would  see  what  it  would  be  like  to 
ride  him. 

"  Oh,  I  've  seen  plenty  of  your  Indian  ponies,"  said 
the  doctor.  "  I  know  they  can  run." 

Alessandro  lingered.  He  could  not  give  up  this 
last  hope.  The  tears  came  into  his  eyes.  "  It  is 
our  only  child,  Senor,"  he  said.  "It  will  take 
you  but  six  hours  in  all.  My  wife  counts  the  mo 
ments  till  you  come  !  If  the  child  dies,  she  will 
die." 

"  Xo  !  no  !  "  The  doctor  was  weary  of  being  im 
portuned.  "  Tell  the  man  it  is  impossible  !  I  'd  soon 
have  my  hands  full,  if  I  began  to  go  about  the  coun 
try  this  way.  They'd  be  sending  for  me  down  to 
Agua  Caliente  next,  and  bringing  up  their  ponies  to 
carry  me." 

"  He  will  not  go  ?  "  asked  Alessandro. 

The  interpreter  shook  his  head.  "  He  cannot,"  he 
said. 

Without  a  word  Alessandro  left  the  room.  Pres 
ently  he  returned.  "Ask  him  if  he  will  come  for 
money?"  he  said.  "I  have  gold  at  home.  I  will 
pay  him,  what  the  white  men  pay  him." 

"  Tell  him  no  man  of  any  color  could  pay  me  for 
going  sixty  miles ! "  said  the  doctor. 

And  Alessaudro  departed  again,  walking  so  slowly, 
however,  that  he  heard  the  coarse  laugh,  and  the 


RAMONA.  403 

words,  "  Gold  !  Looked  like  it,  did  n't  he?"  which  fol 
lowed  his  departure  from  the  room. 

When  Ramona  saw  him  returning  alone,  she  wrung 
her  hands.  Her  heart  seemed  breaking.  The  baby 
had  lain  in  a  sort  of  stupor  since  noon ;  she  was 
plainly  worse,  and  Ramona  had  been  going  from  the 
door  to  the  cradle,  from  the  cradle  to  the  door,  for  an 
hour,  looking  each  moment  for  the  hoped-for  aid.  It 
had  not  once  crossed  her  mind  that  the  doctor  would 
not  come.  She  had  accepted  in  much  fuller  faith 
than  Alessandro  the  account  of  the  appointment  by 
the  Government  of  these  two  men  to  look  after  the 
Indians'  interests.  What  else  could  their  coming 
mean,  except  that,  at  last,  the  Indians  were  to  have 
justice  ?  She  thought,  in  her  simplicity,  that  the 
doctor  must  have  died,  since  Alessandro  was  riding 
home  alone. 

"  He  would  not  come  ! "  said  Alessandro,  as  he 
threw  himself  off  his  horse,  wearily. 

"  Would  not ! "  cried  Ramona.  "  Would  not !  Did 
you  not  say  the  Government  had  sent  him  to  be  the 
doctor  for  Indians  ?  " 

"  That  was  what  they  said,"  he  replied.  "  You  see 
it  is  a  lie,  like  the  rest !  But  I  offered  him  gold, 
and  he  would  not  come  then.  The  child  must  die, 
Majella!" 

"  She  shall  not  die  !  "  cried  Ramona.  "  We  will 
carry  her  to  him ! "  The  thought  struck  them  both 
as  an  inspiration.  Why  had  they  not  thought  of  it 
before  ?  "  You  can  fasten  the  cradle  on  Baba's  back, 
and  he  will  go  so  gently,  she  will  think  it  is  but 
play ;  and  I  will  walk  by  her  side,  or  you,  all  the 
way  ! "  she  continued.  "  And  we  can  sleep  at  Aunt 
Ri's  house.  Oh,  why,  why  did  we  not  do  it  before  ? 
Early  in  the  morning  we  will  start." 

All  through  the  night  they  sat  watching  the  little 
creature.  If  they  had  ever  seen  death,  they  would 


404  RAMONA. 

have  known  that  there  was  no  hope  for  the  child. 
But  how  should  Eamona  and  Alessandro  know  ? 

The  sun  rose  bright  and  warm.  Before  it  was 
up,  the  cradle  was  ready,  ingeniously  strapped  on 
Baba's  back.  When  the  baby  was  placed  in  it,  she 
smiled.  "  The  first  smile  she  has  given  for  days," 
cried  Eamona.  "  Oh,  the  air  itself  will  do  good 
to  her!  Let  me  walk  by  her  first!  Come,  Baba! 
Dear  Baba ! "  and  Eamona  stepped  almost  joyfully 
by  the  horse's  side,  Alessandro  riding  Benito. 
As  they  paced  along,  their  eyes  never  leaving  the 
baby's  face,  Eamona  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Ales 
sandro,  I  am  almost  afraid  to  tell  you  what  I  have 
done.  I  took  the  little  Jesus  out  of  the  Madonna's 
arms  and  hid  it !  Did  you  never  hear,  that  if  you 
do  that,  the  Madonna  will  grant  you  anything,  to 
get  him  back  again  in  her  arms?  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  it  ?  " 

"  Never ! "   exclaimed  Alessandro,  with   horror  in 
his  tone.     "  Never,  Majella  !    How  dared  you  ? " 

"  I  dare  anything  now  ! "  said  Eamona.  "  I  have 
been  thinking  to  do  it  for  some  days,  and  to  tell  her 
she  could  not  have  him  any  more  till  she  gave 
me  back  the  baby  well  and  strong ;  but  I  knew  I 
could  not  have  courage  to  sit  and  look  at  her  all 
lonely  without  him  in  her  arms,  so  I  did  not  do  it. 
But  now  we  are  to  be  away,  I  -thought,  that  is  the 
time  ;  and  I  told  her,  '  When  we  come  back  with  our 
baby  well,  you  shall  have  your  little  Jesus  again,  too ; 
now,  Holy  Mother,  you  go  with  us,  and  make  the  doc 
tor  cure  our  baby  ! '  Oh,  I  have  heard,  many  times, 
women  tell  the  Senora  they  had  done  this,  and  al 
ways  they  got  what  they  wanted.  Never  will  she 
let  the  Jesus  be  out  of  her  arms  more  than  three 
weeks  before  she  will  grant  any  prayer  one  can  make. 
It  was  that  way  she  brought  you  to  me,  Alessandro. 
I  never  before  told  you.  I  was  afraid.  I  think  she 


RAMONA.  405 

had  brought  you  sooner,  but  I  could  keep  the  little 
Jesus  hid  from  her  only  at  night.  In  the  day  I  could 
not,  because  the  Senora  would  see.  So  she  did 
not  miss  him  so  much;  else  she  had  brought  you. 
quicker." 

"  But,  Majella,"  said  the  logical  Alessandro,  "  itf 
was  because  I  could  not  leave  my  father  that  I  did 
not  come.  As  soon  as  he  was  buried,  I  came." 

"  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  Virgin,  you  would  never 
have  come  at  all,"  said  Ramona,  confidently. 

For  the  first  hour  of  this  sad  journey  it  seemed  as 
if  the  child  were  really  rallying;  the  air,  the  sun 
light,  the  novel  motion,  the  smiling  mother  by  her 
side,  the  big  black  horses  she  had  already  learned  to 
love,  all  roused  her  to  an  animation  she  had  not 
shown  for  days.  But  it  was  only  the  last  flicker  of 
the  expiring  flame.  The  eyes  drooped,  closed  ;  a 
strange  pallor  came  over  the  face.  Alessandro 
saw  it  first.  He  was  now  walking,  Eamona  riding 
Benito.  "  Majella  ! "  he  cried,  in  a  tone  which  told 
her  all. 

In  a  second  she  was  at  the  baby's  side,  with  a  cry 
which  smote  the  dying  child's  consciousness.  Once 
more  the  eyelids  lifted  ;  she  knew  her  mother  ;  a 
swift  spasm  shook  the  little  frame ;  a  convulsion  as 
of  agony  swept  over  the  face,  then  it  was  at  peace. 
Majella's  shrieks  were  heart-rending.  Fiercely  she 
put  Alessandro  away  from  her,  as  he  strove  to  caress 
her.  She  stretched  her  arms  up  towards  the  sky. 
"  I  have  killed  her  !  1  have  killed  her  ! "  she  cried. 
"  Oh,  let  me  die  ! " 

Slowly  Alessandro  turned  Baba's  head  homeward 
again. 

"  Oh,  give  her  to  me  !  Let  her  lie  on  my  breast !  I 
will  hold  her  warm  !  "  gasped  Eamona. 

Silently  Alessandro  laid  the  body  in  her  arms. 
He  had  not  spoken  since  his  first  cry  of  alarm.  If 


406  RAMON  A. 

Eamona  had  looked  at  him,  she  would  have  forgot 
ten  her  grief  for  her  dead  child.  Alessandro's  face 
seemed  turned  to  stone. 

When  they  reached  the  house,  Eamona,  laying  the 
child  on  the  bed,  ran  hastily  to  a  corner  of  the  room, 
and  lifting  the  deerskin,  drew  from  its  hiding-place 
the  little  wooden  Jesus.  With  tears  streaming,  she 
laid  it  again  in  the  Madonna's  arms,  and  flinging  her 
self  on  her  knees,  sobbed  out  prayers  for  forgiveness. 
Alessandro  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  his  arms 
folded,  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  child.  Soon  he  went 
out,  still  without  speaking.  Presently  Eamona  heard 
the  sound  of  a  saw.  She  groaned  aloud,  and  her  tears 
flowed  faster :  Alessandro  was  making  the  baby's 
coffin.  Mechanically  she  rose,  and,  moving  like  one 
half  paralyzed,  she  dressed  the  little  one  in  fresh 
white  clothes  for  the  burial ;  then  laying  her  in  the 
cradle,  she  spread  over  it  the  beautiful  lace-wrought 
altar-cloth.  As  she  adjusted  its  folds,  her  mind  was 
carried  back  to  the  time  when  she  embroidered  it, 
sitting  on  the  Senora's  veranda ;  the  song  of  the 
finches,  the  linnets  ;  the  voice  and  smile  of  Felipe ; 
Alessandro  sitting  on  the  steps,  drawing  divine  music 
from  his  violin.  Was  that  she,  —  that  girl  who  sat 
there  weaving  the  fine  threads  in  the  beautiful  altar- 
cloth  ?  AVas  it  a  hundred  years  ago  ?  Was  it  an 
other  world  ?  Was  it  Alessandro  yonder,  driving 
those  nails  into  a  coffin  ?  How  the  blows  rang,  louder 
and  louder !  The  air  seemed  deafening  full  of  sound. 
With  her  hands  pressed  to  her  temples,  Eamona  sank 
to  the  floor.  A  merciful  unconsciousness  set  her  free, 
(for  an  interval,  from  her  anguish. 

When  she  opened  her  eyes,  she  was  lying  on  the 
bed.  Alessandro  had  lifted  her  and  laid  her  there, 
making  no  effort  to  rouse  her.  He  thought  she 
would  die  too ;  and  even  that  thought  did  not  stir 
him  from  his  lethargy.  When  she  opened  her  eyes, 


RAMONA.  407 

and  looked  at  him,  he  did  not  speak.  She  closed 
them.  He  did  not  move.  Presently  she  opened 
them  again.  "I  heard  you  out  there,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  done."  And  he  pointed 
to  a  little  box  of  rough  boards  by  the  side  of  the 
cradle. 

"  Is  Majella  ready  to  go  to  the  mountain  now  ? " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Alessandro,  I  am  ready,"  she  said. 

"  We  will  hide  forever,"  he  said. 

"  It  makes  no  difference,"  she  replied. 

The  Saboba  women  did  not  know  what  to  think  of 
Eamona  now.  She  had  never  come  into  sympathetic 
relation  with  them,  as  she  had  with  the  women  of 
San  Pasquale.  Her  intimacy  with  the  Hyers  had 
been  a  barrier  the  Saboba  people  could  not  surmount. 
No  one  could  be  on  such  terms  with  whites,  and  be 
at  heart  an  Indian,  they  thought ;  so  they  held  aloof 
from  Eamona.  But  now  in  her  bereavement  they 
gathered  round  her.  They  wept  at  sight  of  the  dead 
baby's  face,  lying  in  its  tiny  white  coffin.  Eamona 
had  covered  the  box  with  white  cloth,  and  the  lace 
altar-cloth  thrown  over  it  fell  in  folds  to  the  floor. 
"  Why  does  not  this  mother  weep  ?  Is  she  like  the 
whites,  who  have  no  heart  ? "  said  the  Saboba  mothers 
among  themselves  ;  and  they  were  embarrassed  before 
her,  and  knew  not  what  to  say.  Eamona  perceived 
it,  but  had  no  life  in  her  to  speak  to  them.  Benumb 
ing  terrors,  which  were  worse  than  her  grief,  were 
crowding  Eamona's  heart  now.  She  had  offended  the 
Virgin  ;  she  had  committed  a  blasphemy:  in  one  short 
;hour  the  Virgin  had  punished  her,  had  smitten  her 
child  dead  before  her  eyes.  And  now  Alessandro  was 
going  mad ;  hour  by  hour  Eamona  fancied  she  saw 
changes  in  him.  What  form  would  the  Virgin's  ven 
geance  take  next  ?  Would  she  let  Alessandro  become 
a  raging  madman,  and  finally  kill  both  himself  and 


408  RAMONA. 

her  ?  That  seemed  to  Eamona  the  most  probable  fate 
in  store  for  them.  When  the  funeral  was  over,  and 
they  returned  to  their  desolate  home,  at  the  sight  of 
the  empty  cradle  llamona  broke  down. 

"  Oh,  take  me  away,  Alessandro  !  Anywhere ! 
I  don't  care  where !  anywhere,  so  it  is  not  here ! " 
she  cried. 

"  Would  Majella  be  afraid,  now,  on  the  high  moun 
tain,  the  place  I  told  her  of  ?  "  he  said. 

"  No  !  "  she  replied  earnestly.  "  No  !  I  am  afraid 
of  nothing  !  Only  take  me  away  ! " 

A  gleam  of  wild  delight  flitted  across  Alessandro's 
face.  "  It  is  well,"  he  said.  "  My  Majella,  we  will 
go  to  the  mountain ;  we  will  be  safe  there." 

The  same  fierce  restlessness  which  took  possession 
of  him  at  San  Pasquale  again  showed  itself  in  his 
every  act.  His  mind  was  unceasingly  at  work,  plan 
ning  the  details  of  their  move  and  of  the  new  life.  He 
mentioned  them  one  after  another  to  Kamona.  They 
could  not  take  both  horses ;  feed  would  be  scanty 
there,  and  there  would  be  no  need  of  two  horses. 
The  cow  also  they  must  give  up.  Alessaudro  would 
kill  her,  and  the  meat,  dried,  would  last  them  for  a 
long  time.  The  wagon  he  hoped  he  could  sell ;  and 
he  would  buy  a  few  sheep ;  sheep  and  goats  could  live 
•well  in  these  heights  to  which  they  were  going.  Safe 
at  last !  Oh,  yes,  very  safe ;  not  only  against  whites, 
who.  because  the  little  valley  was  so  small  and  bare, 
would  not  desire  it,  but  against  Indians  also.  For  the 
Indians,  silly  things,  had  a  terror  of  the  upper  heights 
of  San  Jacinto  ;  they  believed  the  Devil  lived  there, 
and  money  would  not  hire  one  of  the  Saboba  Indians 
to  go  so  high  as  this  valley  which  Alessandro  had  dis 
covered.  Fiercely  he  gloated  over  each  one  of  these 
features  of  safety  in  their  hiding-place.  "  The  first 
time  I  saw  it,  Majella.  —  I  believe  the  saints  led  me 
there,  —  I  said,  it  is  a  hiding-place.  And  then  I  never 


RAMON  A.  409 

thought  I  would  be  in  want  of  such,  —  of  a  place  to 
keep  my  Majella  safe !  safe  !  Oh,  my  Majel ! "  And  he 
clasped  her  to  his  breast  with  a  terrifying  passion. 

For  an  Indian  to  sell  a  horse  arid  wagon  in  the  San 
Jacinto  valley  was  not  an  easy  thing,  unless  he  would 
give  them  away.  Alessandro  had  hard  work  to  give 
civil  answers  to  the  men  who  wished  to  buy  Benito 
and  the  wagon  for  quarter  of  their  value.  He  knew 
they  would  not  have  dared  to  so  much  as  name  such 
prices  to  a  white  man.  Finally  Eamona,  who  had 
felt  unconquerable  misgivings  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
thus  irrevocably  parting  from  their  most  valuable 
possessions,  persuaded  him  to  take  both  horses  and 
wagon  to  San  Bernardino,  and  offer  them  to  the  Hyers 
to  use  for  the  winter. 

It  would  be  just  the  work  for  Jos,  to  keep  him  in 
the  open  air,  if  he  could  get  teaming  to  do ;  she  was 
sure  he  would  be  thankful  for  the  chance.  "  He  is  as 
fond  of  the  horses  as  we  are  ourselves,  Alessandro," 
she  said.  "  They  would  be  well  cared  for ;  and  then, 
if  we  did  not  like  living  on  the  mountain,  we  could 
have  the  horses  and  wagon  again  when  we  came 
down,  or  Jos  could  sell  them  for  us  in  San  Bernar 
dino.  Nobody  could  see  Benito  and  Baba  working 
together,  and  not  want  them." 

"  Majella  is  wiser  than  the  dove  !  "  cried  Alessan 
dro.  "  She  has  seen  what  is  the  best  thing  to  do.  I 
will  take  them." 

When  he  was  ready  to  set  off,  he  implored  Eamona 
to  go  with  him  ;  but  with  a  look  of  horror  she  refused. 
"  Never,"  she  cried,  "  one  step  on  that  accursed  road  ! 
I  will  never  go  on  that  road  again  unless  it  is  to  be 
carried,  as  we  brought  her,  dead." 

Neither  did  Ramona  wish  to  see  Aunt  Hi.  Her 
sympathy  would  be  intolerable,  spite  of  all  its  affec 
tionate  kindliness.  "  Tell  her  I  love  her,"  she  said, 
"  but  I  do  not  want  to  see  a  human  being  yet  >  next 


410  RAMON  A. 

year  perhaps  we  will  go  down,  —  if  there  is  any  othei 
way  besides  that  road." 

Aunt  Ri  was  deeply  grieved.  She  could  not  under 
stand  Ilarnona's  feeling.  It  rankled  deep.  "  I  allow 
I  'd  never  hev  bleeved  it  uv  her,  never,"  she  said.  "  I 
shan't  never  think  she  wuz  quite  right  'n  her  head, 
to  do  't !  I  allow  we  shan't  never  set  eyes  on  ter  her, 
Jos.  I  've  got  jest  thet  feelin'  abaout  it.  Tears  like 
she  'd  gone  klar  out  'er  this  yer  world  inter  anuther." 

The  majestic  bulwark  of  San  Jacinto  Mountain 
looms  in  the  southern  horizon  of  the  San  Bernardino 
valley.  It  was  in  full  sight  from  the  door  of  the 
little  shanty  in  which  Aunt  Ri's  carpet-loom  stood. 
As  she  sat  there  hour  after  hour,  sometimes  seven 
hours  to  the  day,  working  the  heavy  treadle,  and 
slipping  the  shuttle  back  and  forth,  she  gazed  with 
tender  yearnings  at  the  solemn,  shining  summit. 
"When  sunset  colors  smote  it,  it  glowed  like  fire  ;  on 
cloudy  days,  it  was  lost  in  the  clouds. 

"  'Pears  like  't  was  next  door  to  heaven,  up  there, 
Jos,"  Aunt  Ri  would  say.  "  I  can't  tell  yer  the  feelin' 
't  comes  over  me,  to  look  up  t'  it,  ever  sence  I  knowed 
she  wuz  there.  'T  shines  enuf  to  put  yer  eyes  aout, 
sometimes ;  I  allow  't  ain't  so  light  's  thet  when  you 
air  into  't ;  't  can't  be ;  ther  could  n't  nobody  Stan1 
it,  ef  't  wuz.  I  allow  't  must  be  like  bein'  dead, 
Jos,  don't  yer  think  so,  to  be  livin'  thar?  He  sed 
ther  could  n't  nobody  git  to  'em.  Nobody  ever  seed 
the  place  but  hisself.  He  found  it  a  huntin'.  Thar  's 
water  thar,  'n'  thet  's  abaout  all  thar  is,  's  fur  's  I 
cud  make  aout ;  I  allow  we  shan't  never  see  her 
agin." 

The  horses  and  the  wagon  were  indeed  a  godsend 
to  Jos.  It  was  the  very  thing  he  had  been  longing 
for ;  the  only  sort  of  work  he  was  as  yet  strong 
enough  to 'do,  and  there  was  plenty  of  it  to  be  had  in 
San  Bernardino.  But  the  purchase  of  a  wagon  suita- 


RAMON  A.  411 

Tble  for  the  purpose  was  at  present  out  of  their  power ; 
the  utmost  Aunt  Ei  bad  hoped  to  accomplish  was  to 
have,  at  the  end  of  a  year,  a  sufficient  sum  laid  up 
to  buy  one.  They  had  tried  in  vain  to  exchange 
their  heavy  emigrant-wagon  for  one  suitable  for 
light  work.  "  Tears  like  I  'd  die  o'  sharne,"  said 
Aunt  Ei,  "  sometimes  when  I  ketch  myself  er 
thinkin'  what  luck  ct  's  ben  to  Jos,  er  gettin'  thet 
Injun's  hosses  an'  wag-gin.  But  ef  Jos  keeps  on, 
airnin'  ez  much  ez  he  hez  so  fur,  he  's  goin'  ter  pay 
the  Injun  part  on  %  when  he  cums.  I  allow  ter  Jos 
't  ain't  no  more  'n  fair.  Why,  them  hosses,  they  11 
dew  good  tew  days'  work  'n  one.  I  never  see  sech 
hosses ;  'n'  they  're  jest  like  kittens ;  they  've  ben 
drefful  pets,  I  allow.  I  know  she  set  all  the  world, 
'u'  more  tew,  by  thet  nigh  one.  He  wuz  hern,  ever 
sence  she  wuz  a  child.  Pore  thing,  —  'pears  like 
she  hed  n't  hed  no  chance  ! " 

Alessandro  had  put  off,  from  day  to  day,  the  killing 
of  the  cow.  It  went  hard  with  him  to  slaughter  the 
faithful  creature,  who  knew  him,  and  came  towards 
him  at  the  first  sound  of  his  voice.  He  had  pastured 
her,  since  the  baby  died,  in  a  canon  about  three  miles 
northeast  of  the  village,  —  a  lovely  green  canon  with 
oak-trees  and  a  running  brook.  It  was  here  that  he 
had  thought  of  building  his  house  if  they  had  stayed 
in  Saboba.  But  Alessaudro  laughed  bitterly  to  him 
self  now,  as  he  recalled  that  dream.  Already  the 
news  had  come  to  Saboba  that  a  company  had  been 
formed  for  the  settling  up  of  the  San  Jacinto  valley ; 
the  Eavallo  brothers  had  sold  to  this  company  a  large 
grant  of  land.  The  white  ranchmen  in  the  valley 
were  all  fencing  in  their  lands ;  no  more  free  running 
of  stock.  The  Saboba  people  were  too  poor  to  build 
miles  of  fencing;  they  must  soon  give  up  keeping 
stock ;  and  the  next  thing  would  be  that  they  would 
be  driven  out,  like  the  people  of  Temecula.  It  was 


412  RAMON  A. 

none  too  soon  that  he  had  persuaded  Majella  to  flee 
to  the  mountain.  There,  at  least,  they  could  live 
and  die  in  peace,  —  a  poverty-stricken  life,  and  the 
loneliest  of  deaths  ;  but  they  would  have  each  other. 
It  was  well  the  baby  had  died ;  she  was  saved  all 
this  misery.  By  the  time  she  had  grown  to  be  a 
woman,  if  she  had  lived,  there  would  be  no  place  in 
all  the  country  where  an  Indian  could  find  refuge. 
Brooding  over  such  thoughts  as  these,  Alessandro  went 
up  into  the  caiion  one  morning.  It  must  be  done. 
Everything  was  ready  for  their  move  ;  it  would  take 
many  days  to  carry  even  their  few  possessions  up 
the  steep  mountain  trail  to  their  new  home ;  the 
pony  which  had  replaced  Benito  and  Baba  could  not 
carry  a  heavy  load.  While  this  was  being  done,  Ra- 
mona  would  dry  the  beef  which  would  be  their  sup 
ply  of  meat  for  many  months.  Then  they  would  go. 

At  noon  he  came  down  with  the  first  load  of  the 
meat,  and  Ramona  began  cutting  it  into  long  strips, 
as  is  the  Mexican  fashion  of  drying.  Alessandro 
returned  for  the  remainder.  Early  in  the  afternoon, 
as  Ramona  went  to  and  fro  about  her  work,  she 
saw  a  group  of  horsemen  riding  from  house  to  house, 
in  the  upper  part  of  the  village ;  women  came  run 
ning  out  excitedly  from  each  house  as  the  horse 
men  left  it ;  finally  one  of  them  darted  swiftly  up 
the  hill  to  Ramona.  "  Hide  it !  hide  it  1 "  she  cried, 
breathless  ;  "  hide  the  meat !  It  is  Merrill's  men, 
from  the  end  of  the  valley.  They  have  lost  a  steer, 
and  they  say  we  stole  it.  They  found  the  place,  with 
blood  on  it,  where  it  was  killed;  and  they  say  we 
did  it.  Oh,  hide  the  meat !  They  took  all  that  Fer 
nando  had ;  and  it  was  his  own,  that  he  bought ;  he 
did  not  know  anything  about  their  steer ! " 

"  I  shall  not  hide  it ! "  cried  Ramona,  indig 
nantly.  "It  is  our  own  cow.  Alessandro  killed  it 
to-day." 


RAM  ON  A.  413 

"  They  won't  believe  you !  "  said  the  woman,  in 
distress.  "  They  '11  take  it  all  away.  Oh,  hide  some 
of  it ! "  And  she  dragged  a  part  of  it  across  the 
floor,  and  threw  it  under  the  bed,  Ramona  standing 
by,  stupefied. 

Before  she  had  spoken  again,  the  forms  of  the  gal 
loping  riders  darkened  the  doorway ;  the  foremost  of 
them,  leaping  off  his  horse,  exclaimed :  "  By  God ! 
here  's  the  rest  of  it.  If  they  ain't  the  damnedest 
impudent  thieves !  Look  at  this  woman,  cutting  it 
up  !  Put  that  down,  will  you  ?  We  11  save  you  the 
trouble  of  dryin'  our  meat  for  us,  besides  killin'  it ! 

Fork  over,  now,  every  bit  you  've  got,  you ." 

And  he  called  Ramona  by  a  vile  epithet. 

Every  drop  of  blood  left  Ramona's  face.  Her  eyes 
blazed,  and  she  came  forward  with  the  knife  uplifted 
in  her  hand.  "  Out  of  my  house,  you  dogs  of  the 
white  color ! "  she  said.  "  This  meat  is  our  own ;  my 
husband  killed  the  creature  but  this  morning." 

Her  tone  and  bearing  surprised  them.  There  were 
six  of  the  men,  and  they  had  all  swarmed  into  the 
little  room. 

"  I  say,  Merrill,"  said  one  of  them,  "  hold  on ;  the 
squaw  says  her  husband  only  jest  killed  it  to-day. 
It  might  be  theirs." 

Ramona  turned  on  him  like  lightning.  "  Are  you 
liars,  you  all,"  she  cried,  "that  you  think  I  lie  ?  I 
tell  you  the  meat  is  ours ;  and  there  is  not  an  Indian 
in  this  village  would  steal  cattle  !  " 

A  derisive  shout  of  laughter  from  all  the  men 
greeted  this  speech  ;  and  at  that  second,  the  leader, 
seeing  the  mark  of  blood  where  the  Indian  woman 
had  dragged  the  meat  across  the  ground,  sprang  to 
the  bed,  and  lifting  the  deerskin,  pointed  with  a  sneer 
to  the  beef  hidden  there.  "  Perhaps,  when  you  know 
Injuns  's  well  's  I  do,"  he  said,  "you  won't  be  for 
belie vin'  all  they  say  !  What 's  she  got  it  hid  under 


414  RAMONA. 

the  bed  for,  if  it  was  their  own  cow  ? "  and  he 
stooped  to  drag  the  meat  out.  "  Give  us  a  hand 
here,  Jake ! " 

"  If  you  touch  it,  I  will  kill  you  ! "  cried  Ramona, 
beside  herself  with  rage ;  and  she  sprang  between  the 
men,  her  uplifted  knife  gleaming. 

"  Hoity-toity  ! "  cried  Jake,  stepping  back  ;  "  that 's ' 
a    handsome    squaw    when    she 's    mad !     Say,  boys, 
let 's  leave  her  some  of  the  meat.     She  was  n't   to 
blame;   of  course,  she   believes    what   her  husband 
told  her." 

"  You  go  to  grass  for  a  soft-head,  you  Jake ! " 
muttered  Merrill,  as  he  dragged  the  meat  out  from 
beneath  the  bed. 

"What  is  all  this?"  said  a  deep  voice  in  the  door; 
and  Ramona,  turning,  with  a  glad  cry,  saw  Alessan- 
dro  standing  there,  looking  on,  with  an  expression 
which,  even  in  her  own  terror  and  indignation,  gave 
her  a  sense  of  dread,  it  was  so  icily  defiant.  He  had 
his  hand  on  his  gun.  "  What  is  all  this  ? "  he  re 
peated.  He  knew  very  well. 

"  It's  that  Temecula  man,"  said  one  of  the  men,  in 
a  low  tone,  to  Merrill.  "  If  I  'd  known  't  was  his 
house,  I  would  n't  have  let  you  come  here.  You  're 
up  the  wrong  tree,  sure  ! " 

Merrill  dropped  the  meat  he  was  dragging  over  the 
floor,  and  turned  to  confront  Alessandro's  eyes.  His 
countenance  fell.  Even  he  saw  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake.  He  began  to  speak.  Alessandro  interrupted 
him.  Alessandro  could  speak  forcibly  in  Spanish. 
Pointing  to  his  pony,  which  stood  at  the  door  with  a 
package  on  its  back,  the  remainder  of  the  meat  rolled 
in  the  hide,  he  said:  "  There  is  the  remainder  of 
the  beef.  I  killed  the  creature  this  morning,  in  the 
canon.  I  will  take  Senor  Merrill  to  the  place,  if  he 
wishes  it.  Senor  Merrill's  steer  was  killed  down  in 
the  willows  yonder,  yesterday." 


RAMON  A.  415 

"  That 's  so  ! "  cried  the  meu,  gathering  around  him. 
"  How  did  you  know  ?  Who  did  it  ?  " 

Alessandro  made  no  reply.  He  was  looking  at 
Ramona.  She  had  flung  her  shawl  over  her  head,  as 
the  other  woman  had  done,  and  the  two  were  cower 
ing  in  the  corner,  their  faces  turned  away.  Eamoua 
dared  not  look  on ;  she  felt  sure  Alessandro  would 
kill  some  one.  But  this  was  not  the  type  of  outrage 
that  roused  Alessandro  to  dangerous  wrath.  He  even 
felt  a  certain  enjoyment  in  the  discomfiture  of  the 
self-constituted  posse  of  searchers  for  stolen  goods.  To 
all  their  questions  in  regard  to  the  stolen  steer,  he 
maintained  silence.  He  would  not  open  his  lips. 
At  last,  angry,  ashamed,  with  a  volley  of  coarse  oaths 
at  him  for  his  obstinacy,  they  rode  away.  Alessandro 
went  to  Eamona's  side.  She  was  trembling.  Her 
hands  were  like  ice. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  mountain  to-night ! "  she  gasped. 
"  Take  me  where  I  need  never  see  a  white  face 
again ! " 

A  melancholy  joy  gleamed  in  Alessandro's  eyes. 
Eamona,  at  last,  felt  as  he  did. 

"  I  would  not  dare  to  leave  Majella  there  alone, 
while  there  is  no  house,"  he  said;  "and  I  must  go 
and  come  many  times,  before  all  the  things  can  be 
carried." 

"It  will  be  less  danger  there  than  here,  Alessandro," 
said  Ramona,  bursting  into  violent  weeping  as  she 
recalled  the  insolent  leer  with  which  the  man  Jake 
had  looked  at  her.  "  Oh !  I  cannot  stay  here  ! " 

"It  will  not  be  many  days,  my  Majel.  I  will  bor 
row  Fernando's  pony,  to  take  double  at  once ;  then  we 
can  go  sooner." 

"  Who  was  it  stole  that  man's  steer  ? "  said  Ramona. 
"  Why  did  you  not  tell  them  ?  They  looked  as  if 
they  would  kill  you." 

"  It  was  that  Mexican  that  lives  in  the  bottom, 


416  RAMON  A 

Jose*  Castro.  I  myself  came  on  him,  cutting  the 
steer  up.  He  said  it  was  his ;  but  I  knew  very  well, 
by  the  way  he  spoke,  he  was  lying.  But  why  should 
I  tell  ?  They  think  only  Indians  will  steal  cattle.  I 
can  tell  them,  the  Mexicans  steal  more." 
,  "  I  told  them  there  was  not  an  Indian  in  this 
village  would  steal  cattle,"  said  Ramona,  indig 
nantly. 

"  That  was  not  true,  Majella,"  replied  Alessandro, 
sadly.  "  When  they  are  very  hungry,  they  will  steal 
a  heifer  or  steer.  They  lose  many  themselves,  and 
they  say  it  is  not  so  much  harm  to  take  one  when 
they  can  get  it.  This  man  Merrill,  they  say,  branded 
twenty  steers  for  his  own,  last  spring,  when  he  knew 
they  were  Saboba  cattle ! " 

"  Why  did  they  not  make  him  give  them  up  ? " 
cried  Eamona. 

"Did  not  Majella  see  to-day  why  they  can  do 
nothing  ?  There  is  no  help  for  us,  Majella,  only  to 
hide  ;  that  is  all  we  can  do  ! " 

A  new  terror  had  entered  into  Ramona's  life  ;  she 
dared  not  tell  it  to  Alessandro ;  she  hardly  put  it 
into  words  in  her  thoughts.  But  she  was  haunted  by 
the  face  of  the  man  Jake,  as  by  a  vision  of  evil,  and 
on  one  pretext  and  another  she  contrived  to  secure  the 
presence  of  someone  of  the  Indian  women  in  her  house 
whenever  Alessandro  was  away.  Every  day  she  saw 
the  man  riding  past.  Once  he  had  galloped  up  to  the 
open  door,  looked  in,  spoken  in  a  friendly  way  to  her, 
and  ridden  on.  Ramona's  instinct  was  right.  Jake 
was  merely  biding  his  time.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  settle  in  the  San  Jacinto  valley,  at  least  for 
a  few  years,  and  he  wished  to  have  an  Indian  woman 
come  to  live  with  him  and  keep  his  house.  Over 
in  Santa  Ysabel,  his  brother  had  lived  in  that  way 
with  an  Indian  mistress  for  three  years ;  and  when 
he  sold  out,  and  left  Santa  Ysabel,  he  had  given  the 


RAMONA.  417 

woman  a  hundred  dollars  and  a  little  house  for  her 
self  and  her  child.  And  she  was  not  only  satisfied,  but 
held  herself,  in  consequence  of  this  temporary  connec 
tion  with  a  white  man,  much  above  her  Indian  rela 
tives  and  friends.  When  an  Indian  man  had  wished 
to  marry  her,  she  had  replied  scornfully  that  she 
would  never  marry  an  Indian ;  she  might  marry  an 
other  white  man,  but  an  Indian,  —  never.  Nobody 
had  held  his  brother  in  any  less  esteem  for  this  connec 
tion  ;  it  was  quite  the  way  in  the  country.  And  if 
Jake  could  induce  this  handsomest  squaw  he  had  ever 
seen,  to  come  and  live  with  him  in  a  similar  fashion, 
he  would  consider  himself  a  lucky  man,  and  also  think 
he  was  doing  a  good  thing  for  the  squaw.  It  was  all 
very  clear  and  simple  in  his  mind ;  and  when,  seeing 
Ramona  walking  alone  in  the  village  one  morning,  he 
overtook  her,  and  walking  by  her  side  began  to  sound 
her  on  the  subject,  he  had  small  misgivings  as  to  the 
result.  Ramona  trembled  as  he  approached  her.  She 
walked  faster,  and  would  not  look  at  him  ;  but  he,  in 
his  ignorance,  misinterpreted  these  signs  egregiously. 

"  Are  you  married  to  your  husband  ? "  he  finally 
said.  "  It  is  but  a  poor  place  he  gives  you  to  live  in. 
If  you  will  come  and  live  with  me,  you  shall  have  the 
best  house  in  the  valley,  as  good  as  the  Ravallos' ; 
and — "  Jake  did  not  finish  his  sentence.  With  a  cry 
which  haunted  his  memory  for  years,  Ramona  sprang 
from  his  side  as  if  to  run  ;  then,  halting  suddenly, 
she  faced  him,  her  eyes  like  javelins,  her  breath  com 
ing  fast.  "  Beast ! "  she  said,  and  spat  towards  him  ; 
then  turned  and  fled  to  the  nearest  house,  where  she 
sank  on  the  floor  and  burst  into  tears,  saying  that  the 
man  below  there  in  the  road  had  been  rude  to  her. 
Yes,  the  women  said,  he  was  a  bad  man ;  they  all 
knew  it.  Of  this  Ramona  said  no  word  to  Alessan- 
dro.  She  dared  not;  she  believed  he  would  kill 
Jake. 

27 


418  RAMONA. 

When  the  furious  Jake  confided  to  his  friend  Mer 
rill  his  repulse,  and  the  indignity  accompanying  it, 
Merrill  only  laughed  at  him,  and  said  :  "  I  could  have 
told  you  better  than  to  try  that  woman.  She's  mar 
ried,  fast  enough.  There  's  plenty  you  can  get,  though, 
if  you  want  'em.  They  're  first-rate  about  a  house, 
and  jest 's  faithful  's  dogs.  You  can  trust  'em  with 
every  dollar  you  've  got." 

From  this  day,  Ramona  never  knew  an  instant's 
peace  or  rest  till  she  stood  on  the  rim  of  the  refuge 
valley,  high  on  San  Jacinto.  Then,  gazing  around, 
looking  up  at  the  lofty  piunacles  above,  which  seemed 
to  pierce  the  sky,  looking  down  upon  the  world,  —  it 
seemed  the  whole  world,  so  limitless  it  stretched  away 
at  her  feet,  —  feeling  that  infinite  unspeakable  sense 
of  nearness  to  Heaven,  remoteness  from  earth  which 
comes  only  on  mountain  heights,  she  drew  in  a  long 
breatli  of  delight,  and  cried  :  "  At  last !  at  last,  Ales- 
sandro  !  Here  we  are  safe  !  This  is  freedom  !  This  is 

joy!" 

"  Can  Majella  be  content  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  can  almost  be  glad,  Alessandro  !  "  she  cried,  in 
spired  by  the  glorious  scene.  "  I  dreamed  not  it  was 
like  this  ! " 

It  was  a  wondrous  valley.  The  mountain  seemed 
to  have  been  cleft  to  make  it.  It  lay  near  midway  to 
the  top,  and  ran  transversely  on  the  mountain's  side, 
its  western  or  southwestern  end  being  many  feet- 
lower  than  the  eastern.  Both  the  upper  and  lower 
ends  were  closed  by  piles  of  rocks  and  tangled  fallen 
trees  ;  the  rocky  summit  of  the  mountain  itself  made 
the  southern  wall ;  the  northern  was  a  spur,  or  ridge, 
nearly  vertical,  and  covered  thick  with  pine-trees.  A 
man  might  roam  years  on  the  mountain  and  not  find 
this  cleft.  At  the  upper  end  gushed  out  a  crystal 
spring,  which  trickled  rather  than  ran,  in  a  bed  of 
marshy  green,  the  entire  length  of  the  valley,  disap- 


RAMON  A.  419 

peared  in  the  rocks  at  the  lower  end,  and  came  out 
no  more ;  many  times  Alessandro  had  searched  for  it 
lower  down,  but  could  find  no  trace  of  it.  During 
the  summer,  when  he  was  hunting  with  Jeff,  he  had 
several  times  climbed  the  wall  and  descended  it  on 
the  inner  side,  to  see  if  the  rivulet  still  ran  ;  and,  to  his 
joy,  had  found  it  the  same  in  July  as  in  January. 
Drought  could  not  harm  it,  then.  What  salvation  in 
such  a  spring  !  And  the  water  was  pure  and  sweet  as 
if  it  came  from  the  skies. 

A  short  distance  off  was  another  ridge  or  spur  of 
the  mountain,  widening  out  into  almost  a  plateau. 
This  was  covered  with  acorn-bearing  oaks  ;  and  un 
der  them  were  flat  stones  worn  into  hollows,  where 
bygone  generations  of  Indians  had  ground  the  nuts 
into  meal.  Generations  long  bygone  indeed,  for  it 
was  not  in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  now  living,  that 
Indians  had  ventured  so  high  up  as  this  on  San 
Jacinto.  It  was  held  to  be  certain  death  to  climb  to 
its  summit,  and  foolhardy  in  the  extreme  to  go  far  up 
its  sides. 

There  was  exhilaration  in  the  place.  It  brought 
healing  to  both  Alessandro  and  Earnona.  Even  the 
bitter  grief  for  the  baby's  death  was  soothed.  She  did 
not  seem  so  far  off,  since  they  had  come  so  much  nearer 
to  the  sky.  They  lived  at  first  in  a  tent ;  no  time 
to  build  a  house,  till  the  wheat  and  vegetables  were 
planted.  Alessandro  was  surprised,  when  he  came 
to  the  ploughing,  to  see  how  much  good  land  he 
had.  The  valley  thrust  itself,  in  inlets  and  coves, 
into  the  very  rocks  of  its  southern  wall ;  lovely  shel 
tered  nooks  these  were,  where  he  hated  to  wound  the 
soft,  flower-filled  sward  with  his  plough.  As  soon 
as  the  planting  was  done,  he  began  to  fell  trees  for 
the  house.  No  mournful  gray  adobe  this  time,  but 
walls  of  hewn  pine,  with  half  the  bark  left  on  ;  alter 
nate  yellow  and  brown,  as  gay  as  if  glad  hearts  had 


420  RAMON  A. 

devised  it.  The  roof,  of  thatch,  tule,  and  yucca-stalks, 
double  laid  and  thick,  was  carried  out  several  feet  in 
front  of  the  house,  making  a  sort  of  bower-like  ve 
randa,  supported  by  young  fir-tree  stems,  left  rough. 
Once  more  Ramona  would  sit  under  a  thatch  witli 
birds'-nests  in  it.  A  little  corral  for  the  sheep,  and 
a  rough  shed  for  the  pony,  and  the  home  was  com 
plete  :  far  the  prettiest  home  they  had  ever  had.  And 
here,  in  the  sunny  veranda,  when  autumn  came,  sat 
Ramona,  plaiting  out  of  fragrant  willow  twigs  a  cra 
dle.  The  one  over  which  she  had  wept  such  bitter 
tears  in  the  valley,  they  had  burned  the  night  before 
they  left  their  Saboba  home.  It  was  in  early  autumn 
she  sat  plaiting  this  cradle.  The  ground  around  was 
strewn  with  wild  grapes  drying ;  the  bees  were  feast 
ing  on  them  in  such  clouds  that  Ramona  rose  fre 
quently  from  her  work  to  drive  them  away,  saying, 
as  she  did  so,  "  Good  bees,  make  our  honey  from 
something  else ;  we  gain  nothing  if  you  drain  our 
grapes  for  it ;  we  want  these  grapes  for  the  winter  ; " 
and  as  she  spoke,  her  imagination  sped  fleetly  forward 
to  the  winter.  The  Virgin  must  have  forgiven  her, 
to  give  her  again  the  joy  of  a  child  in  her  arms.  Ay, 
a  joy  !  Spite  of  poverty,  spite  of  danger,  spite  of  all 
that  cruelty  and  oppression  could  do,  it  would  still 
be  a  joy  to  hold  her  child  in  her  arms. 

The  baby  was  born  before  winter  came.  An  old 
Indian  woman,  the  same  whose  house  they  had  hived 
in  Saboba,  had  come  up  to  live  with  Ramona.  She 
was  friendless  now,  her  daughter  having  died,  and 
she  thankfully  came  to  be  as  a  mother  to  Ramona. 
She  was  ignorant  and  feeble ;  but  Ramona  saw  in 
her  always  the  picture  of  what  her  own  mother 
might  perchance  be,  wandering,  suffering,  she  knew 
not  what  or  where ;  and  her  yearning,  filial  instinct 
found  sad  pleasure  in  caring  for  this  lonely,  childless, 
aged  one. 


RAMONA,  421 

Eamona  was  alone  with  her  on  the  mountain  at  the 
time  of  the  baby's  birth.  Alessandro  had  gone  to  the 
valley,  to  be  gone  two  days  ;  but  Eamona  felt  no  fear. 
When  Alessandro  returned,  and  she  laid  the  child  in 
his  arms,  she  said  with  a  smile,  radiant  once  more, 
like  the  old  smiles,  "  See,  beloved !  The  Virgin  has 
forgiven  me ;  she  has  given  us  a  daughter  again  !  " 

But  Alessaudro  did  not  smile.  Looking  scrutiniz- 
ingly  into  the  baby's  face,  he  sighed,  and  said,  "  Alas, 
Majella,  her  eyes  are  like  mine,  not  yours  ! " 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  cried  Eamona.  "  I  was  glad  the 
first  minute  I  saw  it." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  an  ill  fate  to  have  the 
eyes  of  Alessandro,"  he  said.  "  They  look  ever  on 
woe  ; "  and  he  laid  the  baby  back  on  Eamona's  breast, 
and  stood  gazing  sadly  at  her. 

"  Dear  Alessandro,"  said  Eamona,  "  it  is  a  sin  to 
always  mourn.  Father  Salvierderra  said  if  we  re 
pined  under  our  crosses,  then  a  heavier  cross  would 
be  laid  on  us.  Worse  things  would  come." 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  That  is  true.  Worse  things 
will  come."  And  he  walked  away,  with  his  head 
sunk  deep  on  his  breast. 


XXIV. 

HHHERE  was  no  real  healing  for  Alessandro.  His 
JL  hurts  had  gone  too  deep.  His  passionate  heart, 
ever  secretly  brooding  on  the  wrongs  he  had  borne, 
the  hopeless  outlook  for  his  people  in  the  future,  and 
most  of  all  on  the  probable  destitution  and  suffering 
in  store  for  Kamona,  consumed  itself  as  by  hidden 
fires.  Speech,  complaint,  active  antagonism,  might 
have  saved  him;  but  all  these  were  foreign  to  his 
self-contained,  reticent,  repressed  nature.  Slowly,  so 
slowly  that  Kamona  could  not  tell  on  what  hour  or 
what  day  her  terrible  fears  first  changed  to  an  even 
more  terrible  certainty,  his  brain  gave  way,  and 
the  thing,  in  dread  of  which  he  had  cried  out  the 
morning  they  left  San  Pasquale,  came  upon  him. 
Strangely  enough,  and  mercifully,  now  that  it  had 
really  come,  he  did  not  know  it.  He  knew  that  he 
suddenly  came  to  his  consciousness  sometimes,  and 
discovered  himself  in  strange  and  unexplained  situa 
tions  ;  had  no  recollection  of  what  had  happened  for  an 
interval  of  time,  longer  or  shorter.  But  he  thought 
it  was  only  a  sort  of  sickness ;  he  did  not  know  that 
during  those  intervals  his  acts  were  the  acts  of  a  mad 
man  ;  never  violent,  aggressive,  or  harmful  to  any  one  ; 
never  destructive.  It  was  piteous  to  see  how  in  these 
intervals  his  delusions  were  always  shaped  by  the  bit 
terest  experiences  of  his  life.  Sometimes  he  fancied 
that  the  Americans  were  pursuing  him,  or  that  they 
were  carrying  off  Kamona,  and  he  was  pursuing 
them.  At  such  times  he  would  run  with  maniac 
swiftness  for  hours,  till  he  fell  exhausted  on  the 


RAMON  A.  423 

ground,  and  slowly  regained  true  consciousness  by 
exhaustion.  At  other  times  he  believed  he  owned 
vast  flocks  and  herds ;  would  enter  any  enclosure  he 
saw,  where  there  were  sheep  or  cattle,  go  about  among 
them,  speak  of  them  to  passers-by  as  his  own.  Some 
times  he  would  try  to  drive  them  away  ;  but  on  bein«- 
remonstrated  with,  would  bewilderedly  give  up  the  at 
tempt.  Once  he  suddenly  found  himself  in  the  road 
driving  a  small  flock  of  goats,  whose  he  knew  not,  nor 
whence  he  got  them.  Sitting  down  by  the  roadside, 
he  buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  "  What  has  happened 
to  iny  memory  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  must  be  ill  of  a  fever  ! " 
As  he  sat  there,  the  goats,  of  their  own  accord,  turned 
and  trotted  back  into  a  corral  near  by,  the  owner 
of  which  stood,  laughing,  on  his  door-sill ;  and  when 
Alessandro  came  up,  said  good-naturedly,  "  All  right, 
Alessandro  !  I  saw  you  driving  off  my  goats,  but  I 
thought  you  'd  bring  'em  back." 

Everybody  in  the  valley  knew  him,  and  knew  his 
condition.  It  did  not  interfere  with  his  capacity  as 
a  worker,  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time.  He  was 
one  of  the  best  shearers  in  the  region,  the  best  horse- 
breaker  ;  and  his  services  were  always  in  demand, 
spite  of  the  risk  there  was  of  his  having  at  any  time 
one  of  these  attacks  of  wandering.  His  absences 
were  a  great  grief  to  Ramona,  not  only  from  the  lone 
liness  in  which  it  left  her,  but  from  the  anxiety  she 
felt  lest  his  mental  disorder  might  at  any  time  take  a 
more  violent  and  dangerous  shape.  This  anxiety  was 
all  the  more  harrowing  because  she  must  keep  it 
locked  in  her  own  breast,  her  wise  and  loving  instinct 
telling  her  that  nothing  could  be  more  fatal  to  him 
than  the  knowledge  of  his  real  condition.  More  than 
once  he  reached  home,  breathless,  panting,  the  sweat 
rolling  off  his  face,  crying  aloud,  "The  Americans 
have  found  us  out,  Majella  !  They  were  on  the  trail  \ 
I  baffled  them.  I  came  up  another  way."  At  such 


424  RAMON  A. 

times  she  would  soothe  him  like  a  child ;  persuade 
him  to  lie  down  and  rest ;  and  when  he  waked  and 
wondered  why  he  was  so  tired,  she  would  say,  "  You 
were  all  out  of  breath  when  you  came  in,  dear.  You 
must  not  climb  so  fast;  it  is  foolish  to  tire  one's 
self  so." 

In  these  days  Ramona  began  to  think  earnestly  of 
Felipe.  She  believed  Alessandro  might  be  cured.  A 
wise  doctor  could  surely  do  something  for  him.  If 
Felipe  knew  what  sore  straits  she  was  in,  Felipe  would 
help  her.  But  how  could  she  reach  Felipe  without  the 
Seiiora's  knowing  it  ?  And,  still  more,  how  could  she 
send  a  letter  to  Felipe  without  Alessandro's  knowing 
what  she  had  written  ?  Karnona  was  as  helpless  in  her 
freedom  on  this  mountain  eyrie  as  if  she  had  been 
chained  hand  and  foot. 

And  so  the  winter  wore  away,  and  the  spring. 
What  wheat  grew  in  their  fields  in  this  upper  air ! 
Wild  oats,  too,  in  every  nook  and  corner.  The  goats 
frisked  and  fattened,  and  their  hair  grew  long  and 
silky ;  the  sheep  were  already  heavy  again  with  wool, 
and  it  was  not  yet  midsummer.  The  spring  rains 
had  been  good  ;  the  stream  was  full,  and  flowers  grew 
along  its  edges  thick  as  in  beds. 

The  baby  had  thrived  ;  as  placid,  laughing  a  little 
thing  as  if  its  mother  had  never  known  sorrow. 
"  One  would  think  she  had  suckled  pain,"  thought 
Ramona,  "  so  constantly  have  I  grieved  this  year ; 
but  the  Virgin  has  kept  her  well." 

If  prayers  could  compass  it,  that  would  surely  have 
been  so ;  for  night  and  day  the  devout,  trusting,  and 
contrite  Ramona  had  knelt  before  the  Madonna  and 
told  her  golden  beads,  till  they  were  wellnigh  worn 
smooth  of  all  their  delicate  chasing. 

At  midsummer  was  to  be  a  fete  in  the  Saboba  vil 
lage,  and  the  San  Bernardino  priest  would  come 
there.  This  would  be  the  time  to  take  the  baby 


RAMONA.  425 

down  to  be  christened ;  this  also  would  be  the  time 
to  send  the  letter  to  Felipe,  enclosed  in  one  to  Aunt 
Hi,  who  would  send  it  for  her  from  San  Bernardino. 
Eamona  felt  half  gnilty  as  she  sat  plotting  what  she 
should  say  and  how  she  should  send  it, — she,  who 
had  never  had  in  her  loyal,  transparent  breast  one 
thought  secret  from  Alessandro  since  they  were 
wedded.  But  it  was  all  for  his  sake.  When  he  was 
well,  he  would  thank  her. 

She  wrote  the  letter  with  much  study  and  delibera 
tion  ;  her  dread  of  its  being  read  by  the  Senora  was  so 
great,  that  it  almost  paralyzed  her  pen  as  she  wrote. 
More  than  once  she  destroyed  pages,  as  being  too 
sacred  a  confidence  for  unloving  eyes  to  read.  At 
last,  the  day  before  the  fete,  it  was  done,  and  safely 
hidden  away.  The  baby's  white  robe,  finely  wrought 
in  open-work,  was  also  done,  and  freshly  washed  and 
ironed.  No  baby  would  there  be  at  the  fete  so 
daintily  wrapped  as  hers  ;  and  Alessandro  had  at 
last  given  his  consent  that  the  name  should  be  Ma- 
jella.  It  was  a  reluctant  consent,  yielded  finally  only 
to  please  Kamona ;  and,  contrary  to  her  wont,  she  had 
been  willing  in  this  instance  to  have  her  own  wish 
fulfilled  rather  than  his.  Her  heart  was  set  upon 
having  the  seal  of  baptism  added  to  the  name  she 
so  loved  ;  and,  "  If  I  were  to  die,"  she  thought,  "  how 
glad  Alessandro  would  be,  to  have  still  a  Majella  ! " 

All  her  preparations  were  completed,  and  it  was 
yet  not  noon.  She  seated  herself  on  the  veranda  to 
watch  for  Alessandro,  who  had  been  two  days  away, 
and  was  to  have  returned  the  previous  evening,  to 
make  ready  for  the  trip  to  Saboba.  She  was  dis 
quieted  at  his  failure  to  return  at  the  appointed  time. 
As  the  hours  crept  on  and  he  did  not  come,  her 
anxiety  increased.  The  sun  had  gone  more  than  an 
hour  past  the  mid-heavens  before  he  came.  He  had 
ridden  fast ;  she  had  heard  the  quick  strokes  of 


426  RAMONA. 

the  horse's  hoofs  on  the  ground  before  she  saw  him. 
"  Why  comes  he  riding  like  that  ?  "  she  thought,  and 
ran  to  meet  him.  As  he  drew  near,  she  saw  to  her 
surprise  that  he  was  riding  a  new  horse.  "  Why, 
Alessandro  ! "  she  cried.  "What  horse  is  this  ? " 

He  looked  at  her  bewilderedly,  then  at  the  horse. 
True  ;  it  was  not  his  own  horse  !  He  struck  his  hand 
on  his  forehead,  endeavoring  to  collect  his  thoughts. 
"  Where  is  my  horse,  then  ? "  he  said. 

"  My  God  !  Alessandro,"  cried  Ramona.  "  Take  the 
horse  back  instantly.  They  will  say  you  stole  it." 

"  But  I  left  rny  pony  there  in  the  corral,"  he  said. 
"  They  will  know  I  did  not  mean  to  steal  it.  How 
could  I  ever  have  made  the  mistake  ?  I  recollect 
nothing,  Majella.  I  must  have  had  one  of  the  sick 
nesses." 

Eamona's  heart  was  cold  with  fear.  Only  too  well 
she  knew  what  summary  punishment  was  dealt  in 
that  region  to  horse-thieves.  "  Oh,  let  me  take  it 
back,  dear !  "  she  cried.  "  Let  me  go  down  with  it. 
They  will  believe  me." 

"Majella!"  he  exclaimed,  "think  you  I  would 
send  you  into  the  fold  of  the  wolf  ?  My  wood-dove ! 
It  is  in  Jim  Farrar's  corral  I  left  my  pony.  I  was 
there  last  night,  to  see  about  his  sheep-shearing  in 
the  autumn.  And  that  is  the  last  I  know.  I  will 
ride  back  as  soon  as  I  have  rested.  I  am  heavy  with 
sleep." 

Thinking  it  safer  to  let  him  sleep  for  an  hour,  as 
his  brain  was  evidently  still  confused,  Eamona  as 
sented  to  this,  though  a  sense  of  danger  oppressed 
her.  Getting  fresh  hay  from  the  corral,  she  with  her 
own  hands  rubbed  the  horse  down.  It  was  a  fine, 
powerful  black  horse ;  Alessandro  had  evidently  urged 
him  cruelty  up  the  steep  trail,  for  his  sides  were  steam 
ing,  his  nostrils  white  with  foam.  Tears  stood  in 
Eamona's  eyes  as  she  did  what  she  could  for  him. 


EAMONA.  427 

He  recognized  her  good-will,  and  put  his  nose  to  her 
face.  "  It  must  be  because  he  was  black  like  Benito, 
that  Alessanclro  took  him,"  she  thought.  "  Oh,  Mary 
Mother,  help  us  to  get  the  creature  safe  back!"  she 
said. 

When  she  went  into  the  house,  Alessandro  was 
asleep.  Eamona  glanced  at  the  sun.  It  was  al 
ready  in  the  western  sky.  By  no  possibility  could 
Alessandro  go  to  Farrar's  and  back  before  dark.  She 
was  on  the  point  of  waking  him,  when  a  furious 
barking  from  Capitan  and  the  other  dogs  roused  him 
instantly  from  his  sleep,  and  springing  to  his  feet,  he 
ran  out  to  see  what  it  meant.  In  a  moment  more 
Eamona  followed, — only  a  moment,  hardly  a  moment; 
but  when  she  reached  the  threshold,  it  was  to  hear  a 
gun-shot,  to  see  Alessandro  fall  to  the  ground,  to  see, 
in  the  same  second,  a  ruffianly  man  leap  from  his 
horse,  and  standing  over  Alessandro's  body,  fire  his 
pistol  again,  once,  twice,  into  the  forehead,  cheek. 
Then  with  a  volley  of  oaths,  each  word  of  which 
seemed  to  Eamona's  reeling  senses  to  fill  the  air  with 
a  sound  like  thunder,  he  untied  the  black  horse  from 
the  post  where  Eamona  had  fastened  him,  and  leap 
ing  into  his  saddle  again,  galloped  away,  leading 
the  horse.  As  he  rode  away,  he  shook  his  fist  at 
Eamona,  who  was  kneeling  on  the  ground,  striving  to 
lift  Alessandro's  head,  and  to  stanch  the  blood  flow 
ing  from  the  ghastly  wounds.  "  That  '11  teach  you 
damned  Indians  to  leave  off  stealing  our  horses  !  "  he 
cried,  and  with  another  volley  of  terrible  oaths  was 
out  of  sight. 

With  a  calmness  which  was  more  dreadful  than 
any  wild  outcry  of  grief,  Eamona  sat  on  the  ground 
by  Alessaudro's  body,  and  held  his  hands  in  hers. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done  for  him.  The  first  shot 
had  been  fatal,  close  to  his  heart,  —  the  murderer  aimed 
well ;  the  after-shots,  with  the  pistol,  were  from  mere 


428  RAMONA. 

wanton  brutality.  After  a  few  seconds  Eamona  rose, 
went  into  the  house,  brought  out  the  white  altar-cloth, 
and  laid  it  over  the  mutilated  face.  As  she  did 
this,  she  recalled  words  she  had  heard  Father  Salvier- 
derra  quote  as  having  been  said  by  Father  Junipero, 
when  one  of  the  Franciscan  Fathers  had  been  mas 
sacred  by  the  Indians,  at  San  Diego.  "  Thank  God  ! " 
he  said,  "  the  ground  is  now  watered  by  the  blood  of 
a  martyr ! " 

"  The  blood  of  a  martyr! "  The  words  seemed  to  float 
in  the  air ;  to  cleanse  it  from  the  foul  blasphemies  the 
murderer  had  spoken.  "  My  Alessandro  !  "  she  said. 
"  Gone  to  be  with  the  saints ;  one  of  the  blessed  mar 
tyrs  ;  they  will  listen  to  what  a  martyr  says."  His 
hands  were  warm.  She  laid  them  in  her  bosom,  kissed 
them  again  and  again.  Stretching  herself  on  the 
ground  by  his  side,  she  threw  one  arm  over  him,  and 
whispered  in  his  ear,  "  My  love,  my  Alessandro  !  Oh, 
speak  once  to  Majella !  Why  do  I  not  grieve  more  ? 
My  Alessandro  !  Is  he  not  blest  already  ?  And  soon 
we  will  be  with  him  !  The  burdens  were  too  great. 
He  could  not  bear  them ! "  Then  waves  of  grief 
broke  over  her,  and  she  sobbed  convulsively ;  but  still 
she  shed  no  tears.  Suddenly  she  sprang  to  her  feet, 
and  looked  wildly  around.  The  sun  was  not  many 
hours  high.  Whither  should  she  go  for  help  ?  The 
old  Indian  woman  had  gone  away  with  the  sheep, 
and  would  not  be  back  till  dark.  Alessandro  must 
not  lie  there  on  the  ground.  To  whom  should  she 
go  ?  To  walk  to  Saboba  was  out  of  the  question. 
There  was  another  Indian  village  nearer,  —  the  village 
of  the  Cahuillas,  on  one  of  the  high  plateaus  of  San 
Jaciuto.  She  had  once  been  there.  Could  she  find 
that  trail  now  ?  She  must  try.  There  was  no  human 
help  nearer. 

Taking  the  baby  in  her  arms,  she  knelt  by  Ales 
sandro,  and  kissing  him,  whispered,  "  Farewell,  nay 


RAMON  A.  429 

beloved.  I  will  not  be  long  gone.  I  go  to  bring 
friends."  As  she  set  off,  swiftly  running,  Capitan, 
who  had  been  lying  by  Alessandro's  side,  uttering 
heart-rending  howls,  bounded  to  his  feet  to  follow 
her.  "  No,  Capitan,"  she  said  ;  and  leading  him  back 
to  the  body,  she  took  his  head  in  her  hands,  looked 
into  his  eyes,  and  said,  "  Capitan,  watch  here."  With 
a  whimpering  cry,  he  licked  her  hands,  and  stretched 
himself  on  the  ground.  He  understood,  and  would 
obey ;  but  his  eyes  followed  her  wistfully  till  she 
disappeared  from  sight. 

The  trail  was  rough,  and  hard  to  find.  More  than 
once  Eamona  stopped,  baffled,  among  the  rocky  ridges 
and  precipices.  Her  clothes  were  torn,  her  face  bleed 
ing,  from  the  thorny  shrubs ;  her  feet  seemed  leaden, 
she  made  her  way  so  slowly.  It  was  dark  in  the  ra 
vines;  as  she  climbed  spur  after  spur,  and  still  saw 
nothing  but  pine  forests  or  bleak  opens,  her  heart  sank 
within  her.  The  wav  had  not  seemed  so  long  before. 

v  O 

Alessandro  had  been  with  her;  it  was  a  joyous,  bright 
day,  and  they  had  lingered  wherever  they  liked,  and 
yet  the  way  had  seemed  short.  Fear  seized  her  that 
she  was  lost.  If  that  were  so,  before  morning  she 
would  be  with  Alessandro ;  for  fierce  beasts  roamed 
San  Jacinto  by  night.  But  for  the  baby's  sake,  she 
must  not  die.  Feverishly  she  pressed  on.  At  last, 
just  as  it  had  grown  so  dark  she  could  see  only  a  few 
hand-breadths  before  her,  and  was  panting  more  from 
terror  than  from  running,  lights  suddenly  gleamed 
out,  only  a  few  rods  ahead.  It  was  the  Calmilla 
village.  In^a  few  moments  she  was  there. 

Tt  is  a  poverty-stricken  little  place,  the  Calmilla 
village, —  a  cluster  of  tule  and  adobe  huts,  on  a  nar 
row  bit  of  bleak  and  broken  ground,  on  San  Jacinto 
Mountain;  the  people  are  very  poor,  but  are  proud 
and  high-spirited,  —  veritable  mountaineers  ill  nature, 
fierce  arid  independent. 


430  RAMONA. 

Alessandro  had  warm  friends  among  them,  and  the 
news  that  he  had  been  murdered,  and  that  his  wife 
had  run  all  the  way  down  the  mountain,  with  her 
baby  in  her  arms,  for  help,  went  like  wild-fire  through 
the  place.  The  people  gathered  in  an  excited  group 
around  the  house  where  Eamona  had  taken  refuge. 
She  was  lying,  half  unconscious,  on  a  bed.  As  soori^ 
as  she  had  gasped  out  her  terrible  story,  she  had' 
fallen  forward  on  the  floor,  fainting,  and  the  baby 
had  been  snatched  from  her  arms  just  in  time  to 
save  it.  She  did  not  seem  to  miss  the  child ;  had 
not  asked  for  it,  or  noticed  it  when  it  was  brought 
to  the  bed.  A  merciful  oblivion  seemed  to  be  fast 
stealing  over  her  senses.  But  she  had  spoken  words 
enough  to  set  the  village  in  a  blaze  of  excitement.  It 
ran  higher  and  higher.  Men  were  every  where  •mount 
ing  their  horses,  —  some  to  go  up  and  bring  Ales- 
saudro's  body  down ;  some  organizing  a  party  to  go 
at  once  to  Jim  Farrar's  house  and  shoot  him :  these 
were  the  younger  men,  friends  of  Alessandro.  Earn 
estly  the  aged  Capitan  of  the  village  implored  them 
to  refrain  from  such  violence. 

"Why  should  ten  be  dead  instead  of  one,  my 
sons  ? "  he  said.  "  Will  you  leave  your  wives  and  your 
children  like  his  ?  The  whites  will  kill  us  all  if  you 
lay  hands  on  the  man.  Perhaps  they  themselves  will 
punish  him." 

A  derisive  laugh  rose  from  the  group.  Never  yet 
within  their  experience  had  a  white  man  been  pun 
ished  for  shooting  an  Indian.  The  Capitan  knew 
that  as  well  as  they  did.  Why  did  he  command  them 
to  sit  still  like  women,  and  do  nothing,  when  a  friend 
was  murdered  ? 

"  Because  I  am  old,  and  you  are  young.  I  have 
seen  that  we  fight  in  vain."  said  the  wise  old  man. 
"  It  is  not  sweet  to  me,  any  more  than  to  you.  It  is 
a  fire  in  my  veins ;  but  I  am  old.  I  have  seen.  I 
forbid  you  to  go." 


EAMONA.  431 

The  women  added  their  entreaties  to  his,  and  the 
young  men  abandoned  their  project.  But  it  was  with 
sullen  reluctance ;  and  mutterings  were  to  be  heard, 
on  all  sides,  that  the  time  would  come  yet.  There 
was  more  than  one  way  of  killing  a  man.  Farrar 
would  not  be  long  seen  in  the  valley.  Alessandro 
should  be  avenged. 

As  Farrar  rode  slowly  down  the  mountain,  leading 
his  recovered  horse,  he  revolved  in  his  thoughts  what 
course  to  pursue.  A  few  years  before,  he  would  have 
gone  home,  no  more  disquieted  at  having  killed  an 
Indian  than  if  he  had  killed  a  fox  or  a  wolf.  But 
things  were  different  now.  This  Agent,  that  the 
Government  had  taken  it  into  its  head  to  send  out 
to  look  after  the  Indians,  had  made  it  hot,  the  other 
day,  for  some  fellows  in  San  Bernardino  who  had 
maltreated  an  Indian ;  he  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to 
arrest  several  liquor-dealers  for  simply  selling  whis 
key  to  Indians.  If  he  were  to  take  this  case  of  Ales- 
sandro's  in  hand,  it  might  be  troublesome.  Farrar 
concluded  that  his  wisest  course  would  be  to  make  a 
show  of  good  conscience  and  fair-dealing  by  deliver 
ing  himself  up  at  once  to  the  nearest  justice  of  the 
peace,  as  having  killed  a  man  in  self-defence.  Ac 
cordingly  he  rode  straight  to  the  house  of  a  Judge 
Wells,  a  few  miles  below  Saboba,  and  said  that  he 
wished  to  surrender  himself  as  having  committed 
"justifiable  homicide "  on  an  Indian,  or  Mexican, 
he  did  not  know  which,  who  had  stolen  his  horse. 
He  told  a  plausible  story.  He  professed  not  to  know 
the  man,  or  the  place ;  but  did  not  explain  how  it 
was,  that,  knowing  neither,  he  had  gone  so  direct  to 
the  spot. 

He  said :  "  I  followed  the  trail  for  some  time,  but 
when  I  reached  a  turn,  I  came  into  a  sort  of  blind 
trail,  where  I  lost  the  track.  I  think  the  horse  had 
been  led  up  on  hard  sod,  to  mislead  any  one  on  the 


432  RAMONA. 

track.  I  pushed  on,  crossed  the  creek,  and  soon  found 
the  tracks  again  in  soft  ground.  This  part  of  the 
mountain  was  perfectly  unknown  to  me,  and  very 
wild.  Finally  I  came  to  a  ridge,  from  which  I  looked 
down  on  a  little  ranch.  As  I  came  near  the  house, 
the  dogs  began  to  bark,  just  as  I  discovered  my 
horse  tied  to  a  tree.  Hearing  the  dogs,  an  Indian,  or 
Mexican,  I  could  not  tell  which,  came  out  of  the  house, 
flourishing  a  large  knife.  I  called  out  to  him,  'Whose 
horse  is  that  ? '  He  answered  in  Spanish,  '  It  is 
mine.'  '  Where  did  you  get  it  ? '  I  asked.  '  In  San 
Jacinto,'  was  his  reply.  As  he  still  came  towards 
me,  brandishing  the  knife,  I  drew  my  gun,  and  said, 
'  Stop,  or  I  '11  shoot ! '  He  did  not  stop,  and  1  fired  ; 
still  he  did  not  stop,  so  I  fired  again ;  and  as  he  did 
not  fall,  I  knocked  him  down  with  the  butt  of  my 
gun.  After  he  was  down,  I  shot  him  twice  with  my 
pistol." 

Ths  duty  of  a  justice  in  such  a  case  as  this  was 
clear.  Taking  the  prisoner  into  custody,  he  sent  out 
messengers  to  summon  a  jury  of  six  men  to  hold 
inquest  on  the  body  of  said  Indian,  or  Mexican ;  and 
early  the  next  morning,  led  by  Farrar,  they  set  out 
for  the  mountain.  When  they  reached  the  ranch, 
the  body  had  been  removed ;  the  house  was  locked ; 
no  signs  left  of  the  tragedy  of  the  day  before,  except 
a  few  blood-stains  on  the  ground,  where  Alessandro 
had  fallen.  Farrar  seemed  greatly  relieved  at  this 
unexpected  phase  of  affairs.  However,  when  he 
found  that  Judge  Wells,  instead  of  attempting  to 
return  to  the  valley  that  night,  proposed  to  pass  the 
night  at  a  ranch  only  a  few  miles  from  the  Cahuilla 
village,  he  became  almost  hysterical  \v7ith  fright.  He 
declared  that  the  Cahuillas  would  surely  come  and 
murder  him  in  the  night,  and  begged  piteously  that 
the  men  would  all  stay  with  him  to  guard  him. 

At    midnight    Judge   Wells    was    roused   by   the 


RAMON  A.  433 

arrival  of  the  Capitan  and  head  men  of  the  Cahuilla 
village,  They  had  heard  of  his  arrival  with  his  jury, 
and  they  had  come  to  lead  them  to  their  village, 
where  the  body  of  the  murdered  man  lay.  They 
were  greatly  distressed  on  learning  that  they  ought 
not  to  have  removed  the  body  from  the  spot  where 
the  death  had  taken  place,  and  that  now  no  inquest 
could  be  held. 

Judge  Wells  himself,  however,  went  back  with  them, 
saw  the  body,  and  heard  the  full  account  of  the 
murder  as  given  by  Ramona  on  her  first  arrival. 
Nothing  more  could  now  be  learned  from  her,  as  she 
was  in  high  fever  and  delirium ;  knew  no  one,  not 
even  her  baby  when  they  laid  it  on  her  breast.  She 
lay  restlessly  tossing  from  side  to  side,  talking  inces 
santly,  clasping  her  rosary  in  her  hands,  and  con 
stantly  mingling  snatches  of  prayers  with  cries  for 
Alessandro  and  Felipe ;  the  only  token  of  conscious 
ness  she  gave  was  to  clutch  the  rosary  wildly,  and 
sometimes  hide  it  in  her  bosom,  if  they  attempted 
to  take  it  from  her. 

Judge  Wells  was  a  frontiersman,  and  by  no  means 
sentimentally  inclined ;  but  the  tears  stood  in  his 
eyes  as  he  looked  at  the  unconscious  Ramona. 

Farrar  had  pleaded  that  the  preliminary  hearing 
might  take  place  immediately;  but  after  this  visit  to 
the  village,  the  judge  refused  his  request,  and  ap 
pointed  the  trial  a  week  from  that  day,  to  give  time 
for  Ramona  to  recover,  and  appear  as  a  witness.  He 
impressed  upon  the  Indians  as  strongly  as  he  could 
the  importance  of  having  her  appear.  It  was  evident 
that  Farrar's  account  of  the  affair  was  false  from  first 
to  last.  Alessandro  had  no  knife.  He  had  not  had 
time  to  go  many  steps  from  the  door ;  the  volley  of 
oaths,  and  the  two  shots  almost  simultaneously,  were 
what  Ramona  heard  as  she  ran  to  the  door.  Alessan 
dro  could  not  have  spoken  many  words. 


434  RAMONA. 

The  day  for  the  hearing  came.  Farrar  had  been, 
during  the  interval,  in  a  merely  nominal  custody ; 
having  been  allowed  to  go  about  his  business,  on  his 
own  personal  guarantee  of  appearing  in  time  for  the 
trial.  It  was  with  a  strange  mixture  of  regret  and 
relief  that  Judge  Wells  saw  the  hour  of  the  trial  ar 
rive,  and  not  a  witness  on  the  ground  except  Farrar 
himself.  That  Farrar  was  a  brutal  ruffian,  the  whole 
country  knew.  This  last  outrage  was  only  one  of  a 
long  series ;  the  judge  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
committed  him  for  trial,  and  have  seen  him  get 
his  deserts.  But  San  Jacinto  Valley,  wild,  sparsely 
settled  as  it  was,  had  yet  as  fixed  standards  and 
criterions  of  popularity  as  the  most  civilized  of 
communities  could  show ;  and  to  betray  sympathy 
with  Indians  was  more  than  any  man's  political  head 
was  worth.  The  word  "justice"  had  lost  its  meaning, 
if  indeed  it  ever  had  any,  so  far  as  they  were  con 
cerned.  The  valley  was  a  unit  on  that  question, 
however  divided  it  might  be  upon  others.  On  the 
whole,  the  judge  was  relieved,  though  it  was  not  with 
out  a  bitter  twinge,  as  of  one  accessory  after  the 
deed,  and  unfaithful  to  a  friend ;  for  he  had  known 
Alessandro  well.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  he  was  relieved 
when  he  was  forced  to  accede  to  the  motion  made 
~by  Farrar's  counsel,  that  "  the  prisoner  be  discharged 
on  ground  of  justifiable  homicide,  no  witnesses  having 
appeared  against  him." 

He  comforted  himself  by  thinking  —  what  was  no 
doubt  true  —  that  even  if  the  case  had  been  brought 
to  a  jury  trial,  the  result  would  have  been  the  same ; 
for  there  would  never  have  been  found  a  San  Diego 
County  jury  that  would  convict  a  white  man  of  mur 
der  for  killing  an  Indian,  if  there  were  no  witnesses  to 
the  occurrence  except  the  Indian  wife.  But  he  derived 
small  comfort  from  this.  Alessandro's  face  haunted 
him,  and  also  the  memory  of  Kamona's,  as  she  lay 


RAMON  A.  435 

tossing  and  moaning  in  the  wretched  Cahuilla  hovel. 
He  knew  that  only  her  continued  illness,  or  her  death, 
could  explain  her  not  having  corae  to  the  trial.  The 
Indians  would  have  brought  her  in  their  arms  all 
the  way,  if  she  had  been  alive  and  in  possession  of 
her  senses. 

During  the  summer  that  she  and  Alessandro  had 
lived  in  Saboba  he  had  seen  her  many  times,  and 
had  been  impressed  by  her  rare  quality.  His  chil 
dren  knew  her  and  loved  her ;  had  often  been  in  her 
house;  his  wife  had  bought  her  embroidery.  Ales 
sandro  also  had  worked  for  him ;  and  no  one  knew 
better  than  Judge  Wells  that  Alessandro  in  his 
senses  was  as  incapable  of  stealing  a  horse  as  any 
white  man  in  the  valley.  Farrar  knew  it;  every 
body  knew  it.  Everybody  knew,  also,  about  his 
strange  fits  of  wandering  mind  ;  and  that  when  these 
half-crazed  fits  came  on  him,  he  was  wholly  irre 
sponsible.  Farrar  knew  this.  The  only  explanation 
of  Furrar's  deed  was,  that  on  seeing  his  horse  spent 
and  exhausted  from  having  been  forced  up  that  ter 
rible  trail,  he  was  seized  by  ungovernable  rage,  and 
fired  on  the  second,  without  knowing  what  he  did. 
"  But  he  would  n't  have  done  it,  if  it  had  n't  been 
an  Indian  ! "  mused  the  judge.  "  He  'd  ha'  thought 
twice  before  he  shot  any  white  man  down,  that 
way." 

Day  after  day  such  thoughts  as  these  pursued  the 
judge,  and  he  could  not  shake  them  off.  An  uneasy 
sense  that  he  owed  something  to  Eamona,  or,  if 
Eamona  were  dead,  to  the  little  child  she  had  left, 
haunted  him.  There  might  in  some  such  way  be  a 
sort  of  atonement  made  to  the  murdered,  unavenged 
Alessandro.  He  might  even  take  the  child,  and  bring 
it  up  in  his  own  house.  That  was  by  no  means 
an  uncommon  thing  in  the  valley.  The  longer  he 
thought,  the  more  he  felt  himself  eased  in  his  mind 


436  RAMONA. 

by  this  purpose ;  and  he  decided  that  as  soon  as  he 
could  find  leisure  he  would  go  to  the  Cahuilla  village 
and  see  what  could  be  done. 

But  it  was  not  destined  that  stranger  hands  should 
bring  succor  to  Bamona.  Felipe  had  at  last  found 
trace  of  her.  Felipe  was  on  the  way. 


XXV. 

TT^FFECTUALLY  misled  by  the  faithful  Carmenaj 
-JJJ  Felipe  had  begun  his  search  for  Alessandro  by 
going  direct  to  Monterey.  He  found  few  Indians 
in  the  place,  and  not  one  had  ever  heard  Alessandro's 
name.  Six  miles  from  the  town  was  a  little  settle 
ment  of  them,  in  hiding,  in  the  bottoms  of  the  San 
Carlos  River,  near  the  old  Mission.  The  Catholic 
priest  advised  him  to  search  there ;  sometimes,  he 
said,  fugitives  of  one  sort  and  another  took  refuge  in 
this  settlement,  lived  there  for  a  few  months,  then 
disappeared  as  noiselessly  as  they  had  come.  Felipe 
searched  there  also  ;  equally  in  vain. 

He  questioned  all  the  sailors  in  port ;  all  the  ship 
pers.  No  one  had  heard  of  an  Indian  shipping  on 
board  any  vessel ;  in  fact,  a  captain  would  have  to  be 
in  straits  before  he  would  take  an  Indian  in  his  crew. 

"  But  this  was  an  exceptionally  good  worker,  this 
Indian ;  he  could  turn  his  hand  to  anything ;  he  might 
have  gone  as  ship's  carpenter." 

"  That  might  be,"  they  said ;  "  nobody  had  ever 
heard  of  any  such  thing,  however;"  and  very  much 
they  all  wondered  what  it  was  that  made  the  hand 
some,  sad  Mexican  gentleman  so  anxious  to  find  this 
Indian. 

Felipe  wasted  weeks  in  Monterey.  Long  after  lie 
had  ceased  to  hope,  he  lingered.  He  felt  as  if  he  would  • 
like  to  stay  till  every  ship  that  had  sailed  out  of  Mon 
terey  in  the  last  three  years  had  returned.  Whenever 
he  heard  of  one  coining  into  harbor,  he  hastened  to 
the  shore,  and  closely  watched  the  disembarking.  His 


438  RAMON  A. 

melancholy  countenance,  with  its  eager,  searching 
look,  became  a  familiar  sight  to  every  one ;  even  the 
children  knew  that  the  pale  gentleman  was  looking 
for  some  one  he  could  not  find.  Women  pitied  him, 
and  gazed  at  him  tenderly,  wondering  if  a  man  could 
look  like  that  for  anything  save  the  loss  of  a  sweet 
heart.  Felipe  made  no  confidences.  He  simply  asked, 
day  after  day,  of  every  one  he  met,  for  an  Indian 
named  Alessandro  Assis. 

Finally  he  shook  himself  free  from  the  dreamy  spell 
of  the  place,  and  turned  his  face  southward  again. 
He  went  by  the  route  which  the  Franciscan  Fathers 
used  to  take,  when  the  only  road  on  the  California 
coast  was  the  one  leading  from  Mission  to  Mission. 
Felipe  had  heard  Father  Salvierderra  say  that  there 
were  in  the  neighborhood  of  each  of  the  old  Missions 
Indian  villages,  or  families  still  living.  He  thought 
it  not  improbable  that,  from  Alessandro's  father's  long 
connection  with  the  San  Luis  Hey  Mission,  Alessan 
dro  might  be  known  to  some  of  these  Indians.  He 
would  leave  no  stone  unturned ;  no  Indian  village 
unsearched  ;  no  Indian  unquestioned. 

San  Juan  Bautista  came  first ;  then  Soledad,  San 
Antonio,  San  Miguel,  San  Luis  Obispo,  Santa.  Inez  ; 
and  that  brought  him  to  Santa  Barbara.  He  had 
spent  two  months  on  the  journey.  At  each  of  these 
places  he  found  Indians ;  miserable,  half-starved 
creatures,  most  of  them.  Felipe's  heart  ached,  and 
he  was  hot  with  shame,  at  their  condition.  The  ruins 
of  the  old  Mission  buildings  were  sad  to  see,  but  the 
human  ruins  were  sadder.  Now  Felipe  understood 
why  Father  Salvierdevra's  heart  had  broken,  and  why 
his  mother  had  been  full  of  such  fierce  indignation 
against  the  heretic,  usurpers  and  despoilers  of  the 
estates  which  the  Franciscans  once  held.  He  could 
not  understand  why  the  Church  had  submitted,  with 
out  fighting,  to  such  indignities  and  robberies.  At 


RAMONA.  439 

every  one  of  the  Missions  he  heard  harrowing  tales 
of  the  sufferings  of  those  Fathers  who  had  clung  to 
their  congregations  to  the  last,  and  died  at  their  posts. 
At  Soledad  an  old  Indian,  weeping,  showed  him  the 
grave  of  Father  Sarria,  who  had  died  there  of  starva 
tion.  "  He  gave  us  all  he  had,  to  the  last,"  said  the 
old  man.  "  He  lay  on  a  raw-hide  on  the  ground,  as 
we  did ;  and  one  morning,  before  he  had  finished 
the  mass,  he  fell  forward  at  the  altar  and  was  dead. 
And  when  we  put  him  in  the  grave,  his  body  was  only 
bones,  and  no  flesh  ;  he  had  gone  so  long  without 
food,  to  give  it  to  us." 

At  all  these  Missions  Felipe  asked  in  vain  for 
Alessandro.  They  knew  very  little,  these  northern 
Indians,  about  those  in  the  south,  they  said.  It  was 
seldom  one  from  the  southern  tribes  came  northward. 
They  did  not  understand  each  other's  speech.  The 
more  Felipe  inquired,  and  the  longer  he  reflected,  the 
more  he  doubted  Alessanclro's  having  ever  gone  to 
Monterey.  At  Santa  Barbara  he  made  a  long  stay. 
The  Brothers  at  the  College  welcomed  him  hospitably. 
They  had  heard  from  Father  Salvierderra  the  sad 
story  of  Kamona,  and  were  distressed,  with  Felipe,  that 
no  traces  had  been  found  of  her.  It  grieved  Father 
Salvierderra  to  the  last,  they  said  ;  he  prayed  for  her 
daily,  but  said  he  could  not  get  any  certainty  in  his 
spirit  of  his  prayers  being  heard.  Only  the  day 
before  he  died,  he  had  said  this  to  Father  Francis, 
a  young  Brazilian  monk,  to  whom  he  was  greatly 
attached. 

In  Felipe's  overwrought  frame  of  mind  this  seemed 
to  him  a  terrible  omen  ;  and  he  set  out  on  his  journey 
with  a  still  heavier  heart  than  before.  He  believed 
Eamona  was  dead,  buried  in  some  unknown,  uncon- 
secrated  spot,  never  to  be  found  ;  yet  he  would  not 
give  up  the  search.  As  he  journeyed  southward,  he 
began  to  find  persons  who  had  known  of  Alessandro; 


440  RAM  ON  A. 

and  still  more,  those  who  had  known  his  father,  old 
Pablo.  But  no  one  had  heard  anything  of  Alessan- 
dro's  whereabouts  since  the  driving  out  of  his  people 
from  Temecula  ;  there  was  no  knowing  where  any  of 
those  Temecula  people  were  now.  They  had  scat 
tered  "  like  a  flock  of  ducks,"  one  Indian  said,  — 
"like  a  flock  of  ducks  after  they  are  fired  into. 
¥"ou  'd  never  see  all  those  ducks  in  any  one  place 
again.  The  Temecula  people  were -here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  all  through  San  Diego  County.  There 
was  one  Temecula  man  at  San  Juan  Capistrano,  how 
ever.  TheSeiior  would  better  see  him.  He  no  doubt 
knew  about  Alessandro.  He  was  living  in  a  room  in 
the  old  Mission  building.  The  priest  had  given  it 
to  him  for  taking  care  of  the  chapel  and  the  priest's 
room,  and  a  little  rent  besides.  He  was  a  hard  man, 
the  San  Juan  Capistrano  priest ;  he  would  take  the 
last  dollar  from  a  poor  man." 

It  was  late  at  night  when  Felipe  reached  San  Juan 
Capistrauo  ;  but  he  could  not  sleep  till  he  had  seen 
this  man.  Here  was  the  first  clew  he  had  gained. 
He  found  the  man,  with  his  wife  and  children,  in  a 
large  corner  room  opening  on  the  inner  court  of  the 
Mission  quadrangle.  The  room  was  dark  and  damp 
as  a  cellar ;  a  fire  smouldered  in  the  enormous  fire 
place  ;  a  few  skins  and  rags  were  piled  near  the 
hearth,  and  on  these  lay  the  woman,  evidently  ill. 
The  sunken  tile  floor  was  icy  cold  to  the  feet ;  the 
wind  swept  in  at  a  dozen  broken  places  in  the  cor 
ridor  side  of  the  wall;  there  was  not  an  article  of 
furniture.  "Heavens!"  thought  Felipe,  as  he  en 
tered,  "  a  priest  of  our  Church  take  rent  for  such 
a  hole  as  this  !  " 

There  was  no  light  in  the  place,  except  the  little 
which  came  from  the  fire.  "  I  am  sorry  I  have  no 
candle,  Senor,"  said  the  man,  as  he  came  forward. 
"  My  wife  is  sick,  and  we  are  very  poor." 


RAMONA.  441 

"  No  matter,"  said  Felipe,  his  hand  already  at  his 
purse.  "  I  only  want  to  ask  you  a  few  questions. 
You  are  from  Temecula,  they  tell  me." 

"Yes,  Senor,"  the  man  replied  in  a  dogged  tone, — 
no  man  of  Temecula  could  yet  hear  the  word  without 
a  pang,  —  "I  was  of  Temecula." 

"  I  want  to  find  one  Alessandro  Assis  who  lived 
there.  You  knew  him,  I  suppose,"  said  Felipe, 
eagerly. 

At  this  moment  a  brand  broke  in  the  smouldering 
fire,  and  for  one  second  a  bright  blaze  shot  up  ;  only 
for  a  second,  then  all  was  dark  again.  But  the  swii't 
blaze  had  fallen  on  Felipe's  face,  and  with  a  start 
which  he  could  not  control,  but  which  Felipe  did  not 
see,  the  Indian  had  recognized  him.  "  Ha,  ha  ! "  he 
thought  to  himself.  "  Senor  Felipe  Moreno,  you  come 
to  the  wrong  house  asking  for  news  of  Alessaudro 
Assis  ! " 

It  was  Antonio,  —  Antonio,  who  had  been  at  the 
Moreno  sheep-shearing ;  Antonio,  who  knew  even 
more  than  Carmena  had  known,  for  he  knew  what  a 
marvel  and  miracle  it  seemed  that  the  beautiful 
Senorita  from  the  Moreno  house  should  have  loved 
Alessandro,  and  wedded  him  ;  and  he  knew  that  on 
the  night  she  went  away  with  him,  Alessandro  had 
lured  out  of  the  corral  a  beautiful  horse  for  her  to 
ride.  Alessandro  had  told  him  all  about  it,  —  Baba, 
fiery,  splendid  Baba,  black  as  night,  with  a  white  star 
in  his  forehead.  Saints  !  but  it  was  a  bold  thing  to 
do,  to  steal  such  a  horse  as  that,  with  a  star  for  a 
mark  ;  and  no  wonder  that  even  now,  though  near 
three  years  afterwards,  Senor  Felipe  was  in  search  of 
him.  Of  course  it  could  be  only  the  horse  he  wanted 
Ha !  much  help  might  he  get  from  Antonio  1 

"  Yes,  Senor,  I  knew  him,"  he  replied. 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  now  ? " 

"  No,  Senor." 


442  RAMON  A. 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  went,  from  Temecula  ? " 

"  No,  Seiior." 

"  A  woman  told  me  he  went  to  Monterey.  I  have 
been  there  looking  for  him." 

"  I  heard,  too,  he  had  gone  to  Monterey." 

"  Where  did  you  see  him  last  ? " 

"  Tn  Temecula." 

"  Was  he  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Seiior." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  his  being  married  ? " 

"  No,  Senor." 

"  Where  are  the  greater  part  of  the  Temecula  peo 
ple  now  ? " 

"  Like  this,  Senor,"  with  a  bitter  gesture,  pointing 
to  his  wife.  "Most  of  us  are  beggars.  A  few  here, 
a  few  there.  Some  have  gone  to  Capitau  Grande, 
some  way  down  into  Lower  California." 

Wearily  Felipe  continued  his  bootless  questioning. 
No  suspicion  that  the  man  was  deceiving  him  crossed 
his  mind.  At  last,  with  a  sigh,  he  said,  "  I  hoped  to 
have  found  Alessaiidro  by  your  means.  I  am  greatly 
disappointed." 

"  I  doubt  not  that,  Senor  Felipe  Moreno,"  thought 
Antonio.  "  I  am  sorry,  Senor,"  he  said. 

It  smote  his  conscience  when  Felipe  laid  in  his 
hand  a  generous  gold-piece,  and  said,  "  Here  is  a  bit 
of  money  for  you.  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  so  poorly 
off." 

The  thanks  which  he  spoke  sounded  hesitating 
and  gruff,  so  remorseful  did  he  feel.  Senor  Felipe 
had  always  been  kind  to  them.  How  well  they  had 
fared  always  in  his  house !  It  was  a  shame  to  lie  to 
him  ;  yet  the  first  duty  was  to  Alessandro.  It  could 
not  be  avoided.  And  thus  a  second  time  help  drifted 
away  from  Eamona. 

At  Temecula,  from  Mrs.  Hartsel,  Felipe  got  the 
first  true  intelligence  of  Alessandro's  movements  ; 


RAMON  A.  443 

but  at  first  it  only  confirmed  his  worst  forebodings. 
Alessandro  had  been  at  Mrs.  Hartsel's  house ;  he 
had  been  alone,  and  on  foot ;  he  was  going  to  walk 
all  the  way  to  San  Pasquale,  where  he  had  the  prom 
ise  of  work. 

How  sure  the  kindly  woman  was  that  she  was 
telling  the  exact  truth.  After  long  ransacking  of  her 
memory  and  comparing  of  events,  she  fixed  the  time 
so  nearly  to  the  true  date,  that  it  was  to  Felipe's  mind 
a  terrible  corroboration  of  his  fears.  It  was.  he  thought, 

*  O        * 

about  a  week  after  Eamona's  flight  from  home  that 
Alessandro  had  appeared  thus,  alone,  on  foot,  at  Mrs. 
Hartsel's.  In  great  destitution,  she  said ;  and  she  had 
lent  him  money  on  the  expectation  of  selling  his 
violin  ;  but  they  had  never  sold  it ;  there  it  was  yet. 
And  that  Alessandro  was  dead,  she  had  no  more 
doubt  than  that  she  herself  was  alive  ;  for  else,  he 
would  have  come  back  to  pay  her  what  he  owed. 
The  honestest  fellow  that  ever  lived,  was  Alessandro. 
Did  not  the  Seiior  Moreno  think  so  ?  Had  he  not 
found  him  so  always  ?  There  were  not  many  such 
Indians  as  Alessandro  and  his  father.  If  there  had 
been,  it  would  have  been  better  for  their  people. 
"  If  they  'd  all  been  like  Alessandro,  I  tell  you,"  she 
said,  "it  would  have  taken  more  than  any  San 
Diego  sheriff  to  have  put  them  out  of  their  homes 
here." 

"  But  what  could  they  do  to  help  themselves,  Mrs. 
Hartsel  ? "  asked  Felipe.  "  The  law  was  against  them. 
We  can't  any  of  us  go  against  that.  I  myself  have 
lost  half  my  estate  in  the  same  way." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate  they  would  n't  have  gone  without 
fighting  !  "  she  said.  "  '  If  Alessandro  had  been  here  ! ' 
they  all  said." 

Felipe  asked  to  see  the  violin.  "  But  that  is  not 
Alessandro's,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  have  seen  his." 

"  No  J  "  she  said.     "  Did  I  say  it  was  his  ?    It 


444  RAMONA. 

his  father's.  One  of  the  Indians  brought  it  in  here 
to  hide  it  with  us  at  the  time  they  were  driven  out. 
It  is  very  old,  they  say,  and  worth  a  great  deal  of 
money,  if  you  could  find  the  right  man  to  buy  it. 
But  he  has  not  come  along  yet.  He  will,  though.  I 
am  not  a  bit  afraid  but  that  we'll  get  our  money 
back  on  it.  If  Alessandro  was  alive,  he  'd  have  been 
here  long  before  this." 

Finding  Mrs.  Hartsel  thus  friendly,  Felipe  suddenly 
decided  to  tell  her  the  whole  story.  Surprise  and  in 
credulity  almost  overpowered  her  at  first.  She  sat 
buried  in  thought  for  some  minutes;  then  she  sprang  to 
her  feet,  and  cried :  "  If  he  's  got  that  girl  with  him,  he 's 
hiding  somewhere.  There  's  nothing  like  an  Indian 
to  hide  ;  and  if  he  is  hiding,  every  other  Indian  knows 
it,  and  you  just  waste  your  breath  asking  any  ques 
tions  of  any  of  them.  They  will  die  before  they  will 
tell  you  one  thing.  They  are  as  secret  as  the  grave. 
And  they,  every  one  of  them,  worshipped  Alessandro. 
You  see  they  thought  he  would  be  over  them,  after 
Pablo,  and  they  were  all  proud  of  him  because  he 
could  read  and  write,  and  knew  more  than  most  of 
them.  If  I  were  in  your  place,"  she  continued,  "  I 
would  not  give  it  up  yet.  I  should  go  to  San  Pas- 
quale.  Now  it  might  just  be  that  she  was  along 
with  him  that  night  he  stopped  here,  hid  somewhere, 
while  he  came  in  to  get  the  money.  I  know  I  urged 
him  to  stay  all  night,  and  he  said  he  could  not  do  it. 
I  don't  know,  though,  where  he  could  possibly  have 
left  her  while  he  carne  here." 

Never  in  all  her  life  had  Mrs.  Hartsel  been  so 
puzzled  and  so  astonished  as  now.  But  her  sympathy, 
and  her  confident  belief  that  Alessandro  might  yet 
be  found,  gave  unspeakable  cheer  to  Felipe. 

"  If  I  find  them,  I  shall  take  them  home  with  me, 
Mrs.  Hartsel,"  he  said  as  lie  rode  away;  "and  we  will 
come  by  this  road  and  stop  to  see  you."  And  the  very 


RAMON  A.  445 

speaking  of  the  words  cheered  him  all  the  way  to  San 
Pasquale. 

But  before  he  had  been  in  San  Pasquale  an  hour, 
he  was  plunged  into  a  perplexity  and  disappointment 
deeper  than  he  had  yet  felt.  He  found  the  village  in 
disorder,  the  fields  neglected,  many  houses  deserted, 
the  remainder  of  the  people  preparing  to  move  away. 
In  the  house  of  Ysidro,  Alessandro's  kinsman,  was 
living  a  white  family,  —  the  family  of  a  man  who  had 
pre-empted  the  greater  part  of  the  land  on  which  the 
village  stood.  Ysidro,  profiting  by  Alessandro's  ex 
ample,  when  he  found  that  there  was  no  help,  that 
the  American  had  his  papers  from  the  land-office,  in 
all  due  form,  certifying  that  the  land  was  his,  had 
given  the  man  his  option  of  paying  for  the  house  or 
having  it  burned  down.  The  man  had  bought  the 
house ;  and  it  was  only  the  week  before  Felipe  ar 
rived,  that  Ysidro  had  set  off,  with  all  his  goods  and 
chattels,  for  Mesa  Grande.  He  might  possibly  have 
told  the  Seiior  more,  the  people  said,  than  any  one 
now  in  the  village  could  ;  but  even  Ysidro  did  not 
know  where  Alessandro  intended  to  settle.  He  told 
no  one.  He  went  to  the  north.  That  was  all  they 
knew. 

To  the  north  !  That  north  which  Felipe  thought 
he  had  thoroughly  searched.  He  sighed  at  the  word. 
The  Senor  could,  if  he  liked,  see  the  house  in 
which  Alessandro  had  lived.  There  it  was,  on  the 
south  side  of  the  valley,  just  in  the  edge  of  the  foot 
hills  ;  some  Americans  lived  in  it  now.  Such  a  good 
ranch  Alessandro  had  ;  the  best  wheat  in  the  valley. 
The  American  had  paid  Alessandro  something  for  it,  — • 
they  did  not  know  how  much ;  but  Alessandro  was 
very  lucky  to  get  anything.  If  only  they  had  lis 
tened  to  him.  He  was  always  telling  them  tin's 
would  come.  Now  it  was  too  late  for  most  of  them 
to  get  anything  for  their  farms.  One  man  had  taken 


446  RAMONA. 

the  whole  of  the  village  lands,  and  he  had  bought 
Ysidro's  house  because  it  was  the  best ;  and  so  they 
would  not  get  anything.  They  were  utterly  dis 
heartened,  broken-spirited. 

In  his  sympathy  for  them,  Felipe  almost  forgot 
his  own  distresses.  "  Where  are  you  going  ? "  he 
asked  of  several. 

"Who  knows,  Senor  ?  "  was  their  reply.  "Wliere 
can  we  go  ?  There  is  no  place." 

When,  in  reply  to  his  questions  in  regard  to  Ales- 
sandro's  wife,  Felipe  heard  her  spoken  of  as  "  Majella," 
his  perplexity  deepened.  Finally  he  asked  if  no  one 
had  ever  heard  the  name  liamona. 

"  Never." 

What  could  it  mean  ?  Could  it  be  possible  that 
this  was  another  Alessandro  than  the  one  of  whom  he 
was  in  search  ?  Felipe  bethought  himself  of  a  possi 
ble  marriage-record.  Did  they  know  where  Alessandro 
had  married  this  wife  of  his,  of  whom  every  word 
they  spoke  seemed  both  like  and  unlike  Kamona  ? 

Yes.  It  was  in  San  Diego  they  had  been  married, 
by  Father  Gaspara. 

Hoping  against  hope,  the  baffled  Felipe  rode  on  to 
San  Diego  ;  and  here,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  he 
found,  not  Father  Gaspara,  who  would  at  his  first 
word  have  understood  all,  but  a  young  Irish  priest, 
who  had  only  just  come  to  be  Father  Gaspara's  assist 
ant.  Father  Gaspara  was  away  in  the  mountains, 
at  Santa  Ysabel.  But  the  young  assistant  would  do 
equally  well,  to  examine  the  records.  He  was  cour 
teous  and  kind  ;  brought  out  the  tattered  old  book,  and, 
looking  over  his  shoulder,  his  breath  coming  fast  with 
excitement  and  fear,  there  Felipe  read,  in  Father 
Gaspara's  hasty  and  blotted  characters,  the  fatal  entry 
of  the  names,  "  Alessandro  Assis  and  Majella  Fa —  ' 

Heart-sick,  Felipe  went  away.  Most  certainly  Ea- 
nioiia  would  never  have  been  married  under  any  but 


RAM  ON  A.  447 

her  own  name.  Who,  then,  was  this  woman  whom 
Alessandro  Assis  had  married  in  less  than  ten  days 
from  the  night  on  which  Ramona  had  left  her  home  ? 
Some  Indian  woman  for  whom  he  felt  compassion, 
or  to  whom  he  was  bound  by  previous  ties  ?  And 
where,  in  what  lonely,  forever  hidden  spot,  was  the 
grave  of  Ramona  ?  \, 

Now  at  last  Felipe  felt  sure  that  she  was  dead.  It 
was  useless  searching  farther.  Yet,  after  he  reached 
home,  his  restless  conjectures  took  one  more  turn, 
and  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  every  priest 
between  San  Diego  and  Monterey,  asking  if  there 
were  on  his  books  a  record  of  the  marriage  of  one 
Alessandro  Assis  and  Ramona  Ortcgna. 

It  was  not  impossible  that  there  might  be,  after 
all,  another  Alessandro  Assis.  The  old  Fathers,  in 
baptizing  their  tens  of  thousands  of  Indian  con 
verts,  were  sore  put  to  it  to  make  out  names  enough. 
There  might  have  been  another  Assis  besides  old 
Pablo,  and  of  Alessandros  there  were  dozens  every 
where. 

This  last  faint  hope  also  failed.  No  record  any 
where  of  an  Alessandro  Assis,  except  in  Father  Gas- 
para's  book. 

As  Felipe  was  riding  out  of  San  Pasquale,  he  had 
seen  an  Indian  man  and  woman  walking  by  the  side 
of  mules  heavily  laden.  Two  little  children,  too 
young  or  too  feeble  to  walk,  were  so  packed  in  among 
the  bundles  that  their  faces  were  the  only  part  of 
them  in  sight.  The  woman  was  crying  bitterly. 
"  More  of  these  exiles.  God  help  the  poor  creatures  • " 
thought  Felipe  ;  and  he  pulled  out  his  purse,  and  gave- 
the  woman  a  piece  of  gold.  She  looked  up  in  as 
great  astonishment  as  if  the  money  had  fallen  from 
the  skies.  "  Thanks  !  Thanks,  Seiior ! "  she  exclaimed  ; 
and  the  man  coming  up  to  Felipe  said  also,  "God 
reward  you,  Seiior !  That  is  more  money  than  I 


448  RAMONA. 

had  .in  the  world!  Does  the  Senor  know  of  any 
place  where  I  could  get  work  ?  " 

Felipe  longed  to  say,  "  Yes,  come  to  my  estate ; 
there  you  shall  have  work ! "  In  the  olden  time 
he  would  have  done  it  without  a  second  thought, 
for  both  the  man  and  the  woman  had  good  faces,  — 
were  young  and  strong.  But  the  pay-roll  of  the 
Moreno  estate  was  even  now  too  long  for  its  dwin 
dled  fortunes.  "No,  my  man,  I  am  sorry  to  say  I 
do  not,"  he  answered.  "  I  live  a  long  way  from 
here.  Where  were  you  thinking  of  going  ?  " 

"  Somewhere  in  San  Jacinto,"  said  the  man.  "  They 
say  the  Americans  have  not  come  in  there  much  yet. 
I  have  a  brother  living  there.  Thanks,  Seiior ;  may 
the  saints  reward  you ! " 

"  San  Jacinto  ! "  After  Felipe  returned  home,  the 
name  haunted  his  thoughts.  The  grand  mountain- 
top  bearing  that  name  he  had  known  well  in  many 
a  distant  horizon.  "  Juan  Can,"  he  said  one  day,  "  are 
there  many  Indians  in  San  Jacinto  ?  " 

"  The  mountain  ?  "   said  Juan  Can. 

"  Ay,  I  suppose,  the  mountain,"  said  Felipe.  "  What 
else  is  there  ? " 

"  The  valley,  too,"  replied  Juan.  "  The  San  Jacinto 
Valley  is  a  fine,  broad  valley,  though  the  river  is  not 
much  to  be  counted  on.  It  is  mostly  dry  sand  a 
good  part  of  the  year.  But  there  is  good  grazing. 
There  is  one  village  of  Indians  I  know  in  the  valley ; 
some  of  the  San  Luis  Eey  Indians  came  from  there ; 
and  up  on  the  mountain  is  a  big  village ;  the  wildest 
Indians  in  all  the  country  live  there.  Oh,  they  are 
fierce,  Senor !  " 

The  next  morning  Felipe  set  out  for  San  Jacinto. 
Why  had  no  one  mentioned,  why  had  he  not  him 
self  known,  of  these  villages  ?  Perhaps  there  were 
yet  others  he  had  not  heard  of.  Hope  sprang  in 
Felipe's  impressionable  nature  as  easily  as  it  died. 


EAMONA.  449 

An  hour,  a  moment,  might  see  him  both  lifted  up 
and  cast  down.  When  he  rode  into  the  sleepy  little 
village  street  of  San  Bernardino,  and  saw,  in  the 
near  horizon,  against  the  southern  sky,  a  superb 
mountain-peak,  changing  in  the  sunset  lights  from 
turquoise  to  ruby,  and  from  ruby  to  turquoise  again, 
he  said  to  himself,  "  She  is  there  !  I  have  found  her  !  " 

The  sight  of  the  mountain  affected  him,  as  it  had 
always  affected  Aunt  lii,  with  an  indefinable,  solemn 
sense  of  something  revealed,  yet  hidden.  "  San  Ja- 
cinto  ?  "  he  said  to  a  bystander,  pointing  to  it  with  his 
whip. 

"  Yes,  Sefior,"  replied  the  man.  As  he  spoke,  a 
pair  of  black  horses  came  whirling  round  the  cor 
ner,  and  he  sprang  to  one  side,  narrowly  escaping 
being  knocked  down.  "  That  Tennessee  fellow  11  run 
over  somebody  yet,  with  those  black  devils  of  his,  if 
he  don't  look  out,"  he  muttered,  as  he  recovered  his 
balance. 

Felipe  glanced  at  the  horses,  then  driving  his 
spurs  deep  into  his  horse's  sides,  galloped  after  them. 
"  Baba  !  by  God  ! "  he  cried  aloud  in  his  excitement ; 
and  forgetful  of  everything,  he  urged  his  horse  faster, 
shouting  as  he  rode,  "  Stop  that  man !  Stop  that 
man  with  the  black  horses  !  " 

Jos,  hearing  his  name  called  on  all  sides,  reined  in 
Benito  and  Baba  as  soon  as  he  could,  and  looked 
around  in  bewilderment  to  see  what  had  happened. 
Before  he  had  time  to  ask  any  questions,  Felipe  had 
overtaken  him,  and  riding  straight  to  Baba's  head, 
had  flung  himself  from  his  own  horse  and  taken 
Baba  by  the  rein,  crying,  "  Baba !  Baba  !  "  Baba 
knew  his  voice,  and  began  to  whinny  and  plunge. 
Felipe  was  nearly  unmanned.  For  the  second,  he 
forgot  everything.  A  crowd  was  gathering  around 
them.  It  had  never  been  quite  clear  to  the  San  Ber 
nardino  mind  that  Jos's  title  to  Benito  and  Baba 

29 


450  EAMONA. 

would  bear  looking  into ;  and  it  was  no  surprise, 
therefore,  to  some  of  the  on-lookers,  to  hear  Felipe 
cry  in  a  loud  voice,  looking  suspiciously  at  Jos, 
"  How  did  you  get  him  ? " 

Jos  was  a  wag,  and  Jos  was  never  hurried.  The 
man  did  not  live,  nor  could  the  occasion  arrive,  which 
would  quicken  his  constitutional  drawl.  Before  even 
beginning  his  answer  he  crossed  one  leg  over  the 
other  and  took  a  long,  observant  look  at  Felipe  ; 
then  in  a  pleasant  voice  lie  said :  "  Wall,  Senor,  — 
I  allow  yer  air  a  Senor  by  yer  color,  —  it  would 
take  right  smart  uv  time  tew  tell  yeow  haow  I  cum 
by  thet  hoss,  'n'  by  the  other  one  tew.  They  ain't 
mine,  neither  one  on  'em." 

Jos's  speech  was  as  unintelligible  to  Felipe  as  it  had 
been  to  Kamona.  Jos  saw  it,  and  chuckled. 

"  Mebbe  't  would  holp  yer  tew  understand  me  ef  I 
wuz  tew  talk  Mexican,"  he  said,  and  proceeded'  to 
repeat  in  tolerably  good  Spanish  the  sum  and  sub 
stance  of  what  he  had  just  said,  adding :  "  They 
belong  to  an  Indian  over  on  San  Jacinto  ;  at  least, 
the  off  one  does;  the  nigh  one's  his  wife's;  he 
would  n't  ever  call  thet  one  anything  but  hers.  It 
had  been  hers  ever  sence  she  was  a  girl,  they  said. 
I  never  saw  people  think  so  much  of  horses  as  they 
did." 

Before  Jos  had  finished  speaking,  Felipe  had  bound 
ed  into  the  wagon,  throwing  his  horse's  reins  to  a 
boy  in  the  crowd,  and  crying,  "  Follow  along  with 
my  horse,  will  you  ?  I  must  speak  to  this  man." 

Found  !  Found,  —  the  saints  be  praised,  —  at  last ! 
How  should  he  tell  this  man  fast  enough  ?  How 
should  he  thank  him  enough  ? 

Laying  his  hand  on  Jos's  knee,  he  cried  :  "  I  can't 
explain  to  you ;  I  can't  tell  you.  Bless  you  forever, 
—  forever  !  It  must  be  the  saints  led  you  here  !  " 

"  Oh,  Lawd  i "  thought  Jos; "  another  o'  them  '  saint' 


RAMON  A.  451 

fellers !  I  allow  not,  Senor,"  he  said,  relapsing  into 
Tennesseean.  "  It  wur  Tom  Wurmsee  led  me  ;  I 
wuz  gvvine  ter  move  bis  truck  fur  him  this  arter- 
noon." 

"Take  me  home  with  you  to  your  house,"  said 
Felipe,  still  trembling  with  excitement ;  "  we  cannot 
talk  here  in  the  street.  I  want  to  hear  all  you  can 
tell  me  about  them.  I  have  been  searching  for  them 
all  over  California." 

Jos's  face  lighted  up.  This  meant  good  fortune 
for  that  gentle,  sweet  Eamona,  he  was  sure.  "  I  '11 
take  you  straight  there,"  he  said ;  "  but  first  I  must 
stop  at  Tom's.  He  will  be  waiting  for  me." 

The  crowd  dispersed,  disappointed ;  cheated  out  of 
their  anticipated  scene  of  an  arrest  for  horse-stealing. 
"  Good  for  you,  Tennessee ! "  and,  "  Fork  over  that 
black  horse,  Jos !  "  echoed  from  the  departing  groups. 
Sensations  were  not  so  common  in  San  Bernardino 
that  they  could  afford  to  slight  so  notable  an  occasion 
as  this. 

As  Jos  turned  the  corner  into  the  street  where  he 
lived,  he  saw  his  mother  coming  at  a  rapid  run 
towards  them,  her  sun-bonnet  half  off  her  head,  her 
spectacles  pushed  up  in  her  hair. 

"  Why,  thar  's  mammy  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What 
ever  hez  gone  wrong  naow  ? " 

Before  he  finished  speaking,  she  saw  the  black 
horses,  and  snatching  her  bonnet  from  her  head 
waved  it  wildly,  crying,  "Yeow  Jos!  Jos,  hyar! 
Stop  !  I  wuz  er  comin'  ter  hunt  yer !  " 

Breathlessly  she  continued  talking,  her  words  half 
lost  in  the  sound  of  the  wheels.  Apparently  she  did 
not  see  the  stranger  sitting  by  Jos's  side.  "  Oh,  Jos, 

O  \i 

thar 'a  the  terriblest  news  come!  Thet  Injun  Ales- 
sandro  's  got  killed  ;  murdered ;  jest  murdered,  I  say ; 
't  ain't  no  less.  Thar  wuz  an  Injun  come  down 
from  ther  mounting  with  a  letter  to  the  Auent." 


452  RAMON  A. 

u  Good  God  !  Alessandro  killed ! "  burst  from  Felipe's 
lips  in  a  heart-rending  voice. 

Jos  looked  bewilderedly  from  his  mother  to  Felipe ; 
the  complication  was  almost  beyond  him.  "  Oh, 
Lawd  !  "  he  gasped.  Turning  to  Felipe,  "  Thet  's 
mammy,"  he  said.  "  She  wuz  real  fond  o'  both  on 
'em."  Turning  to  his  mother,  "  This  hyar  's  her 
brother,"  he  said.  "  He  jest  knowed  me  by  Baba, 
hyar  on  ther  street.  He 's  been  huntin'  'em  every- 
whar." 

Aunt  Ei  grasped  the  situation  instantly.  Wiping 
her  streaming  eyes,  she  sobbed  out :  "  Wall,  I  '11  allow, 
arter  this,  thar  is  sech  a  thing  ez  a  Providence,  ez  they 
call  it.  'Pears  like  ther  could  n't  enuythin'  less  brung 
yer  hyar  jest  naow.  I  know  who  yer  be ;  ye  're  her 
brother  Feeleepy,  a1' n't  yer  ?  Meuny  's  ther  time 
she  's  tolt  me  about  yer  !  Oh,  Lawd  '  How  air  we 
ever  goin'  to  git  ter  her  ?  I  allow  she 's  dead  !  I 
allow  she  'd  never  live  arter  seein'  him  shot  down 
dead  !  He  tolt  me  thar  could  n't  nobody  git  up  thar 
whar  they  'd  gone ;  no  white  folks,  I  mean.  Oh, 
Lawd,  Lawd!" 

Felipe  stood  paralyzed,  horror-stricken.  He  turned 
in  despair  to  Jus.  "  Tell  me  in  Spanish,"  he  said. 
"  I  cannot  understand." 

As  Jos  gradually  drew  out  the  whole  story  from  his 
mother's  excited  and  incoherent  speech,  and  trans 
lated  it,  Felipe  groaned  aloud,  "  Too  late  !  Too  late  !" 
He  too  felt,  as  Aunt  Ei  had,  that  Eamona  never 
could  have  survived  the  shock  of  seeing  her  hus 
band  murdered.  "  Too  late  !  Too  late  ! "  he  cried,  as 
he  staggered  into  the  house.  "  She  has  surely  died 
of  the  sight." 

"  I  allow  she  did  n't  die,  nuther,"  said  Jos  ;  "  not  ser 
long  ez  she  hed  thet  young  un  to  look  arter  !  " 

"  Yer  air  right,  Jos  !  "  said  Aunt  Ei.  "  I  allow  yer 
air  right.  Thar  couldn't  uothin'  kill  her,  short  ei 


RAMONA.  453 

wild  beasts,  ef  she  lied  ther  baby  'n  her  arms  !  She 
ain't  dead,  not  ef  the  baby  ez  erlive,  I  allow.  Thet  's 
some  comfort." 

Felipe   sat   with    his   face   buried   in    his   hands,  f 
Suddenly  looking  up,  he  said,  "  How  far  is  it  ? " 

"Thirty  miles  'n'  more  inter  the  valley,  where  we' 
wuz,"  said  Jos ;  "  'n'  the  Lawd  knows  how  fur  't  is  up 
on  ter  the  mounting,  where  they  wuz  livin'.  It 's  like 
goin'  up  the  wall  uv  a  house,  goin'  up  San  Jacinto 
Mounting,  daddy  sez.  He  wuz  thar  huntin'  all  sum 
mer  with  Alessandro." 

How  strange,  how  incredible  it  seemed,  to  hear 
Alessandro's  name  thus  familiarly  spoken, —  spoken 
by  persons  who  had  known  him  so  recently,  and 
who  were  grieving,  grieving  as  friends,  to  hear 
of  his  terrible  death  !  Felipe  felt  as  if  he  were 
in  a  trance.  Eousing  himself,  he  said,  "  We  must 
go.  We  must  start  at  once.  You  will  let  me  have 
the  horses  ? " 

"  Wall,  I  allow  yer  've  got  more  right  ter  'em  'n  — 
began   Jos,    energetically,  forgetting   himself;   then, 
dropping  Tennesseean,  he  completed  in  Spanish  his 
cordial   assurances  that  the  horses  were  at  Felipe's 
command. 

"  Jos  !  He  's  got  ter  take  me  ! "  cried  Aunt  Pa.  "  I 
allow  I  ain't  never  gwine  ter  set  still  hyar,  'n'  thet 
girl  inter  sech  trouble  ;  'u'  if  so  be  ez  she  is  reely 
dead,  thar  's  the  baby.  He  hed  n't  orter  go  alone 
by  hisself." 

Felipe  was  thankful,  indeed,  for  Aunt  Ei's  compan 
ionship,  and  expressed  himself  in  phrases  so  warm,, 
that  she  was  embarrassed. 

"  Yeow  tell  him,  Jos,"  she  said,  "  I  can't  never  git 
used  ter  bein'  called  Senory.  Yeow  tell  him  his  sister 
aiiers  called  me  Aunt  Ki,  'n'  I  jest  wish  he  would.  I 
allow  me  'n'  him  '11  git  along  all  right.  Tears  like 
I  'd  known  him  all  my  days,  jest  ez  't  did  with  her, 


454  RAMONA. 

arter  the  fust.  I  'ra  free  to  confess  I  take  more  ter 
these  Mexicans  than  I  do  ter  these  low-down,  driven 
Yankees,  ennyhow,  —  a  heap  more  ;  but  I  can't  stand 
hem'  Senory'd  !  Yeow  tell  him,  Jos.  I  s'pose  thar  's  a 
\vord  for  '  aunt '  in  Mexican,  ain't  there  ?  'Pears  like 
thar  could  n't  be  no  langwedge  'thout  sech  a  word  ! 
He  '11  know  what  it  means  !  I  'd  go  off  with  him 
a  heap  easier  ef  he  'd  call  rne  jest  plain  Aunt  Ei,  ez 
I  'm  used  ter,  or  Mis  Hyer,  either  un  on  'em ;  but 
Aunt  Hi 's  the  nateralest." 

Jos  had  some  anxiety  about  his  mother's  memory 
of  the  way  to  San  Jacinto.  She  laughed. 

"  Don't  yeow  be  a  mite  oneasy,"  she  said.  "  I  bet 
yeow  I  'd  go  clean  back  ter  the  States  ther  way  we 
cum.  I  allow  I  've  got  every  mile  on  't  'n  my  hed 
plain 's  a  turnpike.  Yeow  nor  yer  dad,  neiry  one  on 
yer,  could  n't  begin  to  do  't.  But  what  we  air  gwine 
ter  do,  fur  gittin'  up  the  mounting,  thet's  another 
thing.  Thet's  more  'n  I  dew  know.  But  thar '11 
be  a  way  pervided,  Jos,  sure 's  yeow  're  bawn. 
The  Lawd  ain't  gwine  to  git  hisself  hindered  er 
holpin'  Eamony  this  time  ;  I  ain't  a  mite  afeerd." 

Felipe  could  not  have  found  a  better  ally.  The 
comparative  silence  enforced  between  them  by  reason 
of  lack  of  a  common  vehicle  for  their  thoughts  was  on 
the  whole  less  of  a  disadvantage  than  would  have 
at  first  appeared.  They  understood  each  other  well 
enough  for  practical  purposes,  and  their  unity  in 
aim,  and  in  affection  for  Eamona,  made  a  bond  so 
strong,  it  could  not  have  been  enhanced  by  words. 

It  was  past  sundown  when  they  left  San  Bernardino, 
but  a  full  moon  made  the  night  as  good  as  day  for 
their  journey.  When  it  first  shone  out,  Aunt  Ei, 
pointing  to  it,  said  curtly,  "  Thet  's  lucky." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Felipe,  who  did  not  know  either  of 
the  words  she  had  spoken,  "  it  is  good.  It  shows  to 
us  the  way." 


RAMONA.  455 

"  Thar,  naow,  say  he  can't  understand  English ! " 
thought  Aunt  Ei. 

Benito  and  Baba  travelled  as  if  they  knew  the 
errand  on  which  they  were  hurrying.  Good  forty 
miles  they  had  gone  without  flagging  once,  when 
Aunt  Ei,  pointing  to  a  house  on  the  right  hand  of  the 
road,  the  only  one  they  had  seen  for  many  miles,  said  : 
"  We  11  hev  to  sleep  hyar.  I  douno  the  road  beyant 
this.  I  allow  they  're  gone  ter  bed  ;  but  they  '11  hev 
to  git  up  'n'  take  us  in.  They  're  used  ter  doin'  it. 
They  dew  consid'able  business  keepin'  movers.  I 
know  'em.  They  're  reel  friendly  fur  the  kind  o' 
people  they  air.  They  're  druv  to  death.  It  can't  be 
far  frum  their  time  to  git  up,  ennyhow.  They  're  up 
every  morniri'  uv  thar  lives  long  afore  daylight,  a 
feeclin'  their  stock,  an'  gittin'  ready  fur  the  day's 
work.  I  used  ter  hear  'em  'n'  see  'em,  when  we  wuz 
campin'  here.  The  fust  I  saw  uv  it,  I  thought  some 
body  wuz  sick  in  the  house,  to  git  'em  up  thet  time  o' 
night ;  but  arterwards  we  found  out  't  wan't  nothin' 
but  thar  reggerlar  way.  When  I  told  dad,  sez  I, 
'  Dad,  did  ever  yer  hear  sech  a  thing  uz  gittin'  up 
afore  light  to  feed  stock  ? '  'n'  ter  feed  theirselves  tew. 
They'd  their  own  breakfast  all  clared  away, 'n'  dishes 
washed,  too,  afore  light;  'n'  prayers  said  beside  ;  they  're 
Methodys,  terrible  pious.  1  used  ter  tell  dad  they 
talked  a  heap  about  believin'  in  God ;  I  don't  allow 
but  what  they  clew  believe  in  God,  tew,  but  they 
don't  worship  Him  so  much  's  they  worship  work ; 
not  nigh  so  much.  Believin'  'n'  worshippin'  's  tew 
things.  Yeow  would  n't  see  no  sech  doin's  in  Tennes 
see.  I  allow  the  Lawd  meant  some  time  fur  sleepin' ; 
^'n'  I  'in  satisfied  with  his  times  o'  lightin'  up.  But 
these  Merrills  air  reel  nice  folks,  fur  all  this  I  've 
ben  tellin'  yer!  —  Lawd!  I  don't  believe  he's  un 
derstood  a  word  I  've  said,  naow  !  "  thought  Aunt  Ei 
to  herself,  suddenly  becoming  aware  of  the  •  hopeless 


456  RAMONA. 

bewilderment  on  Felipe's  face.  "  T  ain't  much  use 
say  in'  anything  more  'n  plain  yes  'n'  no,  between  folks 
thet  can't  understand  each  other's  langwedge  ;  'n'  s' 
fur  's  thet  goes,  I  allow  thar  ain't  any  gret  use  'u  the 
biggest  part  o'  what  's  sed  between  folks  thet  doos  ! " 

When  the  Merrill  family  learned  Felipe's  purpose  of 
going  up  the  mountain  to  the  Cahuilla  village,  they 
attempted  to  dissuade  him  from  taking  his  own  horses. 
He  would  kill  them  both,  high-spirited  horses  like 
those,  they  said,  if  he  took  them  over  that  road.  It 
was  a  cruel  road.  They  pointed  out  to  him  the  line 
where  it  wound,  doubling  and  tacking  on  ihe  sides  of 
precipices,  like  a  path  for  a  goat  or  chamois.  Aunt 
Ili  shuddered  at  the  sight,  but  said  nothing. 

"I'm  gwine  whar  he  goes,"  she  said  grimly  to  her 
self.  "  I  ain't  a  gwine  ter  back  daown  naow  ;  but  I  dew 
jest  wish  Jeff  Hyer  wuz  along." 

Felipe  himself  disliked  what  he  saw  and  heard  of 
the  grade.  The  road  had  been  built  for  bringing 
down  lumber,  and  for  six  miles  it  was  at  perilous 
angles.  After  this  it  wound  along  on  ridges  and  in 
ravines  till  it  reached  the  heart  of  a  great  pine  forest, 
where  stood  a  saw-rnill.  Passing  this,  it  plunged  into 
still  darker,  denser  woods,  some  fifteen  miles  farther 
on,  and  then  came  out  among  vast  opens,  meadows, 
and  grassy  foot-hills,  still  on  the  majestic  mountain's 
northern  or  eastern  slopes.  From  these,  another  steep 
road,  little  more  than  a  trail,  led  south,  and  up  to  the 
Cahuilla  village.  A  day  and  a  half's  hard  journey,  at 
the  shortest,  it  was  from  Merrill's ;  and  no  one  un 
familiar  with  the  country  could  find  the  last  part  of 
the  way  without  a  guide.  Finally  it  was  arranged 
that  one  of  the  younger  Merrills  should  go  in  this 
capacity,  and  should  also  take  two  of  his  strong 
est  horses,  accustomed  to  the  road.  By  the  help  of 
these  the  terrible  ascent  was  made  without  difficulty, 
though  Baba  at  first  snorted,  plunged,  and  resented  the 


RAMONA.  457 

humiliation   of  being   harnessed   with  his   head   at 
another  horse's  tail. 

Except  for  their  sad  errand,  both  Felipe  and  Aunt 
Ki  would  have  experienced  a  keen  delight  in  this  as 
cent.  With  each  fresh  lift  on  the  precipitous  terraces, 
the  view  off  to  the  south  and  west  broadened,  until 
the  whole  San  Jacinto  Valley  lay  unrolled  at  their  feet. 
The  pines  were  grand ;  standing,  they  seemed  shapely 
columns  ;  fallen,  the  upper  curve  of  their  huge  yel 
low  disks  came  above  a  man's  head,  so  massive  was 
their  size.  On  many  of  them  the  bark  had  been 
riddled  from  root  to  top,  as  by  myriads  of  bullet- 
holes.  In  each  hole  had  been  cunningly  stored  away 
an  acorn,  —  the  woodpeckers'  granaries. 

"  Look  at  thet,  naow ! "  exclaimed  the  observant 
Aunt  Ei ;  "  an'  thar  's  folk's  thet  sez  dumb  critters  ain't 
got  brains.  They  ain't  noways  dumb  to  each  other, 
I  notice  ;  an'  we  air  dumb  aourselves  when  we  air 
ketched  with  furriners.  I  allow  I  'm  next  door  to 
dumb  myself  with  this  hyar  Mexican  I  'm  er  travellin' 
with." 

"  That 's  so  !  "  replied  Sam  Merrill.  "  When  we 
fust  got  here,  I  thought  I  'd  ha'  gone  clean  out  o'  my 
head  tryin'  to  make  these  Mexicans  sense  my  mean- 
in'  ;  my  tongue  was  plaguy  little  use  to  me.  But 
now  I  can  talk  their  lingo  fust-rate ;  but  pa,  he 
can't  talk  to  'em  nohow  ;  he  hain't  learned  the  fust 
word  ;  'n'  he  's  ben  here  goin'  on  two  years  longer  'n 
we  have." 

The  miles  seemed  leagues  to  Felipe.  Aunt  Ei's 
drawling  tones,  as  she  chatted  volubly  with  young 
Merrill,  chafed  him.  How  could  she  chatter !  But 
when  he  thought  this,  it  would  chance  that  in  a  few 
•moments  more  he  would  see  her  clandestinely  wiping 
away  tears,  and  his  heart  would  warm  to  her  again. 

They  slept  at  a  miserable  cabin  in  one  of  the  clear 
ings,  and  at  early  dawn  pushed  on,  reaching  the 


458  RAMON  A. 

Cahuilla  village  before  noon.  As  their  carriage  came 
in  sight,  a  great  running  to  and  fro  of  people  was  to 
be  seen.  Such  an  event  as  the  arrival  of  a  comforta 
ble  carriage  drawn  by  four  horses  had  never  before 
taken  place  in  the  village.  The  agitation  into  which 
the  people  had  been  thrown  by  the  murder  of  Ales- 
sandro  had  by  no  means  subsided ;  they  were  all  on 
the  alert,  suspicious  of  each  new  occurrence.  The 
news  had  only  just  reached  the  village  that  Farrar 
had  been  set  at  liberty,  and  would  not  be  punished 
for  his  crime,  and  the  flames  of  indignation  and  desire 
for  vengeance,  which  the  aged  Capitan  had  so  much 
difficulty  in  allaying  in  the  outset,  were  bursting  forth 
again  this  morning. '  It  was  therefore  a  crowd  of  hos 
tile  and  lowering  faces  which  gathered  around  the  car 
riage  as  it  stopped  in  front  of  the  Capitaii's  house. 

Aunt  Ei's  face  was  a  ludicrous  study  of  mingled 
terror,  defiance,  and  contempt.  "  Uv  all  ther  low- 
down,  no-'count,  beggarly  trash  ever  I  laid  eyes  on," 
she  said  in  a  low  tone  to  Merrill,  "  I  allow  these  yere 
air  the  wust !  But  I  allow  they  'd  flatten  us  all  aout 
in  jest  abaout  a  minnit,  ef  they  wuz  to  set  aout  tew  ! 
Ef  she  ain't  hyar,  we  air  in  a  scrape,  I  allow." 

"  Oh,  they  're  friendly  enough,"  laughed  Merrill. 
"  They  're  all  stirred  up,  now,  about  the  killin'  o'  that 
Injun  ;  that 's  what  makes  'em  look  so  fierce.  I  don't 
wonder  !  'T  was  a  derned  mean  thing  Jim  Farrar  did, 
a  firm'  into  the  man  after  he  was  dead.  I  don't 
blame  him  for  killin'  the  cuss,  not  a  bit ;  I  'd  have 
shot  any  man  livin'  that  'ad  taken  a  good  horse  o' 
mine  up  that  trail.  That 's  the  only  law  we  stock 
men  've  got  out  in  this  country.  We  've  got  to  pro 
tect  ourselves.  But  it  was  a  mean,  low-lived  trick  to 
blow  the  feller's  face  to  pieces  after  he  was  dead ;  but 
Jim  's  a  rough  feller,  'n'  I  expect  he  was  so  mad, 
when  he  see  his  horse,  that  he  didn't  know  what  he 
did." 


RAMONA.  459 

Aunt  Ei  was  half  paralyzed  with  astonishment  at 
this  speech.  Felipe  had  leaped  out  of  the  carriage, 
ana  after  a  few  words  with  the  old  Capitau,  had  hur 
ried  with  him  into  his  house.  Felipe  had  evidently 
forgotten  that  she  was  still  in  the  carriage.  His 
going  into  the  house  looked  as  if  Eamona  were  there. 
Aunt  Ei,  in  all  her  indignation  and  astonishment, 
was  conscious  of  this  train  of  thought  running  through 
her  mind ;  but  not  even  the  near  prospect  of  seeing 
Eamona  could  bridle  her  tongue  now,  or  make  her 
defer  replying  to  the  extraordinary  statements  she 
had  just  heard.  The  words  seemed  to  choke  her  as 
she  began.  "  Young  man,"  she  said,  "  I  donno  much 
abaout  yeotir  raisin'.  I  Ve  heered  yeour  folks  wuz 
great  on  religion.  Naow,  we  ain't,  Jeff  'n'  me ;  we 
war  n't  raised  thet  way ;  but  I  allow  ef  I  wuz  ter 
hear  my  boy,  Jos,  —  he  's  jest  abaout  yeour  age,  'n' 
make  tew,  though  he  's  narrerer  chested,  —  ef  I 
should  hear  him  say  what  yeou  've  jest  said,  I  allow 
I  sh'd  expect  to  see  him  struck  by  lightnin';  'n'  I 
sh'd  n't  think  he  hed  got  more  'n  his  deserts,  I  allow 
I  sh'd  n't ! " 

What  more  Aunt  Ei  would  have  said  to  the  as 
tounded  Merrill  was  never  known,  for  at  that  instant 
the  old  Capitan,  returning  to  the  door,  beckoned  to 
her  ;  and  springing  from  her  seat  to  the  ground,  sternly 
rejecting  Sam's  offered  hand,  she  hastily  entered  the 
house.  As  she  crossed  the  threshold,  Felipe  turned 
an  anguished  face  towards  her,  and  said,  "  Come, 
speak  to  her."  He  was  on  his  knees  by  a  wretched  pal 
let  on  the  floor.  Was  that  Eamona,  —  that  prostrate 
form ;  hair  dishevelled,  eyes  glittering,  cheeks  scar 
let,  hands  playing  meaninglessly,  like  the  hands  of 
one  crazed,  with  a  rosary  of  gold  beads  ?  Yes,  it  was 
Eamona ;  and  it  was  like  this  she  had  lain  there  now 
ten  days  ;  and  the  people  had  exhausted  all  their 
simple  skill  for  her  in  vain. 


460  RAMON  A. 

Aunt  Ei  burst  into  tears.  "  Oh,  Lawd  ! "  she  said. 
"  Ef  I  had  some  '  old  man '  hyar,  I  'd  bring  her  aout  er 
thet  fever !  I  dew  bleeve  I  seed  some  on  't  growiu' 
not  more  'n  er  mile  back."  And  without  a  second  look, 
or  another  word,  she  ran  out  of  the  door,  and  spring 
ing  into  the  carriage,  said,  speaking  faster  than  she 
had  been  heard  to  speak  for  thirty  years :  "  Yeow  jest 
turn  raound  'n'  drive  me  back  a  piece,  the  way  we 
come.  I  allow  I  '11  git  a  weed  thet  '11  break  thet 
fever.  Faster,  faster  !  Run  yer  hosses.  'T  ain't  above 
er  mile  back,  whar  I  seed  it,"  she  cried,  leaning  out, 
eagerly  scrutinizing  each  inch  of  the  barren  ground. 
"  Stop  !  Here 't  is  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  knowed  I  smelt 
the  bitter  on  't  somewhars  along  hyar ; "  and  in  a  few 
minutes  more  she  had  a  mass  of  the  soft,  shining, 
gray,  feathery  leaves  in  her  hands,  and  was  urging  the 
horses  fiercely  on  their  way  back.  "  This  '11  cure 
her,  ef  ennything  will,"  she  said,  as  she  entered  the 
room  again  ;  but  her  heart  sank  as  she  saw  Ramo- 
na's  eyes  roving  restlessly  over  Felipe's  face,  no  sign 
of  recognition  in  them.  "She  's  bad;"  she  said,  her 
lips  trembling ;  "  but,  '  Never  say  die  ! '  ez  allers 
our  motto ;  't  ain't  never  tew  late  fur  ennything  but 
oncet,  'n'  yer  can't  tell  when  thet  time  's  come  till 
it  's  past  'n'  gone." 

Steaming  bowls  of  the  bitterly  odorous  infusion  she 
held  at  Rarnona's  nostrils ;  with  infinite  patience  she 
forced  drop  after  drop  of  it  between  the  unconscious 
lips ;  she  bathed  the  hands  and  head,  her  own  hands 
blistered  by  the  heat.  It  was  a  fight  with  death; 
but  love  and  life  won.  Before  night  Ramona  was 
asleep. 

Felipe  and  Aunt  Ri  sat  by  her,  strange  but  not  un 
congenial  watchers,  each  taking  heart  from  the  other's 
devotion.  All  night  long  Ramqna  slept.  As  Felipe 
watched  her,  he  remembered  his  own  fever,  and  how 
she  had  knelt  by  his  bed  and  prayed  there.  He 


RAMONA.  4G1 

glanced  around  the  room.  In  a  niche  in  the  mud  wall 
was  a  cheap  print  of  the  Madonna,  one  candle  just 
smouldering  out  before  it.  The  village  people  had 
drawn  heavily  on  their  poverty-stricken  stores,  keep 
ing  candles  burning  for  Alessandro  and  Eamona  dur 
ing  the  past  ten  clays.  The  rosary  had  slipped  from 
Eamona's  hold ;  taking  it  cautiously  in  his  hand, 
Felipe  went  to  the  Madonna's  picture,  and  falling  on 
his  knees,  began  to  pray  as  simply  as  if  he  were  alone. 
The  Indians,  standing  on  the  doorway,  also  fell  on 
their  knees,  and  a  low- whispered  murmur  was  heard. 

For  a  moment  Aunt  Hi  looked  at  the  kneeling 
figures  with  contempt.  "  Oh,  Lawd  ! "  she  thought, 
"  the  pore  heathen,  prayin'  ter  a  picter ! "  Then  a 
sudden  revulsion  seized  her.  "  I  allow  I  ain't  gwine 
ter  be  the  unly  one  out  er  the  hull  number  thet  don't 
seem  to  liev  nothin'  ter  pray  ter;  I  allow  I  '11  jine  in 
prayer,  tew,  but  I  shan't  say  mine  ter  no  picter ! "  And 
Aunt  Ei  fell  on  her  knees  ;  and  when  a  young  Indian 
woman  by  her  side  slipped  a  rosary  into  her  hand, 
Aunt  Ei  did  not  repulse  it,  but  hid  it  in  the  folds  of 
her  gown  till  the  prayers  were  done.  It  was  a  moment 
and  a  lesson  Aunt  lii  never  forgot. 


XXVI. 

Capitan's  house  faced  the  east.  Just  as 
JL  day  broke,  and  the  light  streamed  in  at  the 
open  door,  Ramona's  eyes  unclosed.  Felipe  and 
Aunt  Ri  were  both  by  her  side.  With  a  look  of 
bewildered  terror,  she  gazed  at  them. 

"  Thar,  thar,  uaow !  Yer  jest  shet  yer  eyes  'n'  go 
right  off  ter  sleep  agin,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Hi,  com 
posedly,  laying  her  hand  on  Ramona's  eyelids,  and 
compelling  them  down.  "  We  air  hyar,  Feeleepy  'n' 
me,  'n'  we  air  goin'  ter  stay.  I  allow  yer  need  n't  be 
afeerd  o'  nothin'.  Go  ter  sleep,  honey." 

The  eyelids  quivered  beneath  Aunt  Bi's  fingers. 
Tears  forced  their  way,  and  rolled  slowly  down  the 
cheeks.  The  lips  trembled  ;  the  voice  strove  to  speak, 
but  it  was  only  like  the  ghost  of  a  whisper,  the  faint 
question  that  came,  —  "  Felipe  ? " 

"  Yes,  dear  !  I  am  here,  too,"  breathed  Felipe ;  "  go 
to  sleep.  We  will  not  leave  you  !  " 

And  again  Rarnona  sank  away  into  the  merciful 
sleep  which  was  saving  her  life. 

"  Ther  longer  she  kin  sleep,  ther  better,"  said  Aunt 
Ri,  with  a  sigh,  deep-drawn  like  a  groan.  "  I  allow  I 
dread  ter  see  her  reely  come  to.  'T  '11  be  wus  'n  the 
fust ;  she  '11  hev  ter  live  it  all  over  agin  ! "  f 

But  Aunt  Ri  did  not  know  what  forces  of  fortitude^ 
had  been  gathering  in  Ramona's  soul  during  these  last 
bitter  years.  Out  of  her  gentle  constancy  had  been 
woven  the  heroic  fibre  of  which  martyrs  are  made ; 
tins,  and  her  inextinguishable  faith,  had  made  her 
strong,  as  were  those  of  old,  who  "  had  trial  of  cruel 
mocking,  wandered  about,  being  destitute,  afflicted, 


RAMONA.  463 

tormented,  wandered  in  deserts  and  in  mountains, 
and  in  dens  and  caves  of  the  earth." 

When  she  waked  the  second  time,  it  was  with  a 
calm,  almost  beatific  smile  that  she  gazed  on  Felipe, 
and  whispered,  "  How  did  you  find  me,  dear  Felipe  ? " 
It  was  rather  by  the  motions  of  her  lips  than  by  any 
sound  that  he  knew  the  words.  She  had  not  yet 
strength  enough  to  make  an  audible  sound.  When 
they  laid  her  baby  on  her  breast,  she  smiled  again, 
and  tried  to  embrace  her,  but  was  too  weak.  Point 
ing  to  the  baby's  eyes,  she  whispered,  gazing  earnestly 
at  Felipe,  "  Alessandro."  A  convulsion  passed  over 
her  face  as  she  spoke  the  word,  and  the  tears  flowed. 

Felipe  could  riot  speak.  He  glanced  helplessly  at 
Aunt  Ei,  who  promptly  responded  :  "  Naow,  honey, 
don't  yeow  talk.  'T  ain't  good  fur  ye ;  'n'  Feeleepy 
'n'  me,  we  air  in  a  powerful  hurry  ter  git  yer  strong 
'n'  well,  'n'  tote  ye  out  er  this—  Aunt  Pa  stopped. 
No  substantive  in  her  vocabulary  answered  her  need 
at  that  moment.  "I  allow  ye  kin  go  'n  a  week, 
ef  nothin'  don't  go  agin  ye  more  'n  I  see  naow ;  but 
ef  yer  git  ter  talkin',  thar  's  no  tellin'  when  yer  '11  git 
up.  Yeow  jest  shet  up,  honey.  We  '11  look  arter 
everythin'." 

Feebly  Eamona  turned  her  grateful,  inquiring  eyes 
on  Felipe.  Her  lips  framed  the  words,  "  With  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  dear,  home  with  me,"  said  Felipe,  clasping 
her  hand  in  his.  "  I  have  been  searching  for  you  all 
this  time." 

An  anxious  look  came  into  the  sweet  face.  Felipe 
knew  what  it  meant.  How  often  he  had  seen  it  in 
the  olden  time.  He  feared  to  shock  her  by  the 
sudden  mention  of  the  Seriora's  death ;  yet  that  would 
harm  her  less  than  continued  anxiety.  "  I  am  alone, 
dear  Eamona,"  he  whispered.  "There  is  no  one  now 
but  you,  my  sister,  to  take  care  of  me.  My  mother 
has  been  dead  a  year." 


464  RAMON  A. 

The  eyes  dilated,  then  filled  with  sympathetic  tears. 
"  Dear  Felipe  ! "  she  sighed;  but  her  heart  took  courage. 
Felipe's  phrase  was  like  one  inspired  ;  another  duty, 
another  work,  another  loyalty,  waiting  for  Itamona. 
Not  only  her  child  to  live  for,  but  to  "  take  care  of 
Felipe  "  !  Itamona  would  not  die  !  Youth,  a  mother's 
love,  a  sister's  affection  and  duty,  on  the  side  of  life, — 
the  battle  wf\s  won,  and  won  quickly,  too. 

To  the  simple  Cahuillas  it  seemed  like  a  miracle : 
and  they  looked  on  Aunt  Hi's  weather-beaten  face 
with  something  akin  to  a  superstitious  reverence. 
They  themselves  were  not  ignorant  of  the  value 
of  the  herb  by  means  of  which  she  had  wrought 
the  marvellous  cure ;  but  they  had  made  repeated 
experiments  with  it  upon  Kainona,  without  suc 
cess.  It  must  be  that  there  had  been  some  potent 
spell  in  Aunt  Ei's  handling.  They  would  hardly 
believe  her  when,  in  answer  to  their  persistent 
questioning,  she  reiterated  the  assertion  that  she 
had  used  nothing  except  the  hot  water  and  "old 
man,"  which  was  her  name  for  the  wild  wormwood ; 
and  which,  when  explained  to  them,  impressed  them 
greatly,  as  having  no  doubt  some  significance  in  COIK 
nection  with  the  results  of  her  preparation  of  the 
leaves. 

Humors  about  Felipe  ran  swiftly  throughout  the 
region.  The  presence  in  the  Cahuilla  village  of  a 
rich  Mexican  gentleman  who  spent  gold  like  water, 
and  kept  mounted  men  riding  day  and  night,  after 
everything,  anything,  he  wanted  for  his  sick  sister, 
was  an  event  which  in  the  atmosphere  of  that 
lonely  country  loomed  into  colossal  proportions. 
He  had  travelled  all  over  California,  with  four 
horses,  in  search  of  her.  He  was  only  waiting  till 
she  was  well,  to  take  her  to  Ids  home  in  the  south ; 
and  then  he  was  going  to  arrest  the  man  who  had 
murdered  her  husband,  and  have  him  hanged, — 


RAMON  A.  465 

yes,  hanged  !  Small  doubt  about  that ;  or,  if  the  law 
cleared  him,  there  was  still  the  bullet.  This  rich 
Seiior  would  see  him  shot,  if  rope  were  not  to  be  had. 
Jim  Farrar  heard  these  tales,  and  quaked  in  his 
guilty  soul.  The  rope  he  had  small  i'ear  of,  for  well 
he  knew  the  temper  of  San  Diego  County  juries 
and  judges;  but  the  bullet,  that  was  another  thing : 
and  these  Mexicans  were  like  Indians  in  their  ven 
geance.  Time  did  not  tire  them,  and  their  memories 
were  long.  Farrar  cursed  the  day  he  had  let  his 
temper  get  the  better  of  him  on  that  lonely  mountain 
side  ;  how  much  the  better,  nobody  but  he  himself 
knew,  —  nobody  but  he  and  Kamona  :  and  even 
Kamona  did  not  know  the  bitter  whole.  She  knew 
that  Alessandro  had  no  knife,  and  had  gone  for 
ward  with  no  hostile  intent ;  but  she  knew  nothing 
beyond  that.  Only  the  murderer  himself  knew  that 
the  dialogue  which  he  had  reported  to  the  judge  and 
jury,  to  justify  his  act,  was  an  entire  fabrication  of 
his  own,  and  that,  instead  of  it,  had  been  spoken  but 
four  words  by  Alessandro,  and  those  were,  "  Seiior,  I 
M7ill  explain ; "  and  that  even  after  the  first  shot  had 
pierced  his  lungs,  and  the  blood  was  choking  in  his 
throat,  he  had  still  run  a  step  or  two  farther,  with 
his  hand  uplifted  deprecatingly,  and  made  one  more 
effort  to  speak  before  he  fell  to  the  ground  dead. 
Callous  as  Farrar  was,  and  clear  as  it  was  in  his 
niiud  that  killing  an  Indian  was  no  harm,  he  had  not 
liked  to  recall  the  pleading  anguish  in  Alessandro's 
tone  and  in  his  face  as  he  fell.  He  had  not  liked  to 
recall  this,  even  before  he  heard  of  this  rich  Mexican 
brother-in-law  who  had  appeared  on  the  scene;  and 
now,  he  found  the  memories  still  more  unpleasant. 
Fear  is  a  wonderful  goad  to  remorse.  There  was 
another  thing,  too,  which  to  his  great  wonder  had 
been  apparently  overlooked  by  everybody ;  at  least, 
nothing  had  been  said  about  it ;  but  the  bearing  of 

30 


466  RAMONA. 

\ 

it  on  his  case,  if  the  case  were  brought  up  a  second 
time  and  minutely  investigated,  would  be  most  un 
fortunate.  And  this  was,  that  the  only  clew  he  had 
to  the  fact  of  Alessaudro's  having  taken  his  horse,  was 
that  the  poor,  half-crazed  fellow  had  left  his  own  well- 
known  gray  pony  in  the  corral  in  place  of  the  horse 
he  took.  A  strange  thing,  surely,  for  a  horse-thief 
to  do !  Cold  sweat  burst  out  on  Farrar's  forehead, 
more  than  once,  as  he  realized  how  this,  coupled 
with  the  well-known  fact  of  Alessandro's  liability  to 
attacks  of  insanity,  might  be  made  to  tell  against 
him,  if  he  should  be  brought  to  trial  for  the  murder. 
He  was  as  cowardly  as  he  was  cruel :  never  yet  were 
the  twro  traits  separate  in  human  nature ;  and  after 
a  few  days  of  this  torturing  suspense  and  apprehen 
sion,  he  suddenly  resolved  to  leave  the  country,  if  not 
forever,  at  least  for  a  few  years,  till  this  brother-in- 
law  should  be  out  of  the  way.  He  lost  no  time  in 
carrying  out  his  resolution ;  and  it  was  well  he  did 
not,  for  it  was  only  three  days  after  he  had  disap 
peared,  that  Felipe  walked  into  Judge  Wells's  office, 
one  morning,  to  make  inquiries  relative  to  the  pre 
liminary  hearing  which  had  been  held  there  in  the 
matter  of  the  murder  of  the  Indian,  Alessandro  Assis, 
by  James  Farrar.  And  when  the  judge,  taking  down 
his  books,  read  to  Felipe  hiu  notes  of  the  case,  and 
went  on  to  say,  "  If  Farrar's  testimony  is  true,  lla- 
mona's,  the  wife's,  must  be  false,"  and  "  at  any  rate,  her 
testimony  would  not  be  worth  a  straw  with  any  jury," 
Felipe  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  cried,  "  She  of  whom 
you  speak  is  my  foster-sister ;  and,  by  God,  Senor,  if  I 
can  find  that  man,  I  will  shoot  him  as  I  would  a  dog  ! 
And  I  '11  see,  then,  if  a  San  Diego  County  jury  will 
hang  me  for  ridding  the  country  of  such  a  brute ! " 
and  Felipe  would  have  been  as  good  as  his  word. 
It  was  a  wise  thing  Farrar  had  done  in  making  his 
escape. 


RAMONA.  4G7 

When  Aunt  Ei  heard  that  Farrar  had  fled  the 
country,  she  pushed  up  her  spectacles  and  looked 
reflectively  at  her  informant.  It  was  young  Merrill. 
"  Fled  ther  country,  he/  he  ? "  she  said.  "  Wall,  he 
kin  flee  ez  many  countries  ez  he  likes,  an'  't  won't  dew 
him  no  good.  I  know  yeow  folks  hyar  don't  seem 
ter  think  killiri'  an  Injun's  enny  murder,  but  I  say 
't  is ;  an'  yeow  '11  all  git  it  brung  home  ter  yer  afore 
yer  die :  ef  't  ain't  brung  one  way,  't  '11  be  anuther ; 
yeow  jest  mind  what  I  say,  'n'  don't  yeow  furgit  it. 
Naow  this  miser'ble  murderer,  this  Farrar,  thet's  light 
ed  out  er  hyar,  he 's  nothin'  more  'n  a  skunk,  but  he 's 
got  the  Lawd  arter  him,  naow.  It 's  jest  's  well  he 's 
gawn  ;  I  never  did  b'leeve  in  hangin'.  I  never  could. 
It 's  jest  tew  men  dead  'stead  o'  one.  I  don't  want 
to  see  no  man  hung,  no  marter  what  he  's  done,  'n'  I 
don't  want  to  see  no  man  shot  down,  nuther,  no 
marter  what  he  's  done  ;  'n'  this  hyar  Feeleepy,  he 's 
thet  high-strung,  he  'd  ha'  shot  thet  Farrar,  any  min- 
nit,  quicker  'n  lightnin',  ef  he  'd  ketched  him  ;  so  it 's 
better  all  raound  he 's  lit  aout.  But  I  tell  yeow, 
naow,  he  hain't  made  much  by  goin' !  Thet  Injun 
he  murdered  '11  foller  him  night  'n'  day,  till  he  dies, 
'n'  long  arter ;  he  '11  wish  he  wuz  dead  afore  he  doos 
die,  I  allow  he  will,  naow.  He  11  be  jest  like  a 
man  I  knowed  back  in  Tennessee.  I  wa'n't  but  a 
mite  then,  but  I  never  forgot  it.  'T  's  a  great  coun 
try  fur  gourds,  East  Tennessee  is,  whar  I  wuz  raised  ; 
'n'  thar  wuz  two  houses,  'n'  a  fence  between  'em,  'n' 
these  gourds  a  runnin'  all  over  the  fence  ;  'n'  one  o' 
ther  childun  picked  one  o'  them  gourds,  an'  they  fit 
,abaout  it;  'n'  then  the  \vornen  took  it  up,  —  ther 
childun's  mothers,  yer  know,  —  'n'  they  got  fightin' 
abaout  it ;  'n'  then  't  the  last  the  men  took  it  up,  'n' 
they  fit ;  'n'  Eowell  he  got  his  butcher-knife,  'n'  he 
ground  it  up,  'n'  he  picked  a  querril  with  Claiborne, 
'n'  he  cut  him  inter  pieces.  They  bed  him  up  for 't, 


468  RAMO.VA. 

n'  somehow  they  clared  him.  I  don't  see  how  they 
ever  did,  but  they  put 't  off,  'n'  put  't  off,  'n'  't  last 
they  got  him  free ;  'n'  he  lived  ou  thar  a  spell,  but  he 
could  n't  stau'  it ;  'peared  like  he  never  bed  no  peace ; 
'u'  he  come  over  ter  our  'us,  'n'  sed  he,  'Jake,'  —  they 
allers  called  daddy  '  Jake,'  or  '  Uncle  Jake,'  —  '  Jake,' 
sed  he,  '  I  can't  stau'  it,  livin'  hyar.'  '  Why,'  sez 
daddy,  '  the  law  o'  the  country  's  clar'd  ye.'  '  Yes,' 
sez  he,  'but  the  law  o'  God  hain't;  'n'  I've  got 
Claiborne  allers  with  me.  Thar  ain't  any  path  so 
narrer,  but  he  's  a  walkin'  in  it,  by  my  side,  all 
day ;  'n'  come  night,  I  sleep  with  him  ter  one  side, 
'n'  my  wife  t'  other ;  'n'  I  can't  stan'  it ! '  Them  's 
ther  very  words  I  heered  him  say,  '11'  I  wuz  n't 
ennythin'  but  a  mite,  but  I  did  n't  furgit  it.  Wall, 
sir,  he  went  West,  way  aout  hyar  to  Californy,  'n' 
he  could  n't  stay  thar  nuther,  'n'  he  come  back 
hum  agin ;  'n'  I  wuz  bigger  then,  a  gal  grown,  'n' 
daddy  sez  to  him,  —  I  heern  him,  —  '  Wai,'  sez  he, 
'  did  Claiborne  foller  yer  ? '  '  Yes,'  sez  he,  '  he  fol- 
lered  me.  I  '11  never  git  shet  o'  him  in  this  world. 
He  's  allers  clost  to  me  everywhar.'  Yer  see,  't  was 
jest  his  conscience  er  whippin'  him.  Thet  's  all  't 
wuz.  'T  least,  thet  's  all  I  think  't  wuz ;  though 
thar  wuz  those  thet  said  't  wuz  Claiborne's  ghost. 
'N'  thet  '11  be  the  way 't '11  be  with  this  miser'ble 
Farrar.  He  '11  live  ter  wish  he  'd  let  hisself  be 
hanged  er  shot,  er  erry  which  way,  ter  git  out  er 
his  misery." 

Young  Merrill  listened  with  unwonted  gravity  to 
Aunt  Hi's  earnest  words.  They  reached  a  depth  in 
his  nature  which  had  been  long  untouched  ;  a  stratum, 
so  to  speak,  which  lay  far  beneath  the  surface.  The 
character  of  the  Western  frontiersman,  is  often  a  sin 
gular  accumulation  of  such  strata,  —  the  training  and 
beliefs  of  his  earliest  days  overlain  by  successions 
of  unrelated  and  violent  experiences,  like  geological 


BAM  ON  A.  469 

deposits.  Underneath  the  exterior  crust  of  the  most 
hardened  and  ruffianly  nature  often  remains  —  its 
forms  not  yet  tj_uite  fossilized  —  a  realm  full  of 
the  devout  customs,  doctrines,  religious  influences, 
which  the  boy  knew,  and  the  man  remembers.  By 
sudden  upheaval,  in  some  great  catastrophe  or  strug 
gle  in  his  mature  life,  these  all  come  again  into 
the  light.  Assembly  Catechism  definitions,  which 
he  learned  in  his  childhood,  and  has  not  thought 
of  since,  ring  in  his  ears,  and  he  is  thrown  into  all 
manner  of  confusions  and  inconsistencies  of  feeling 
and  speech  by  this  clashing  of  the  old  and  new 
man  within  him.  It  was  much  in  this  way  that 
Aunt  Ei's  words  smote  upon  young  Merrill.  He  was 
not  many  years  removed  from  the  sound  of  a  preach 
ing  of  the  straitest  New  England  Calvinism.  The 
wild  frontier  life  had  drawn  him  in  and  under,  as  in  a 
whirlpool ;  but  he  was  New  Euglander  yet  at  heart. 

"  That 's  so,  Aunt  Hi ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  That 's 
so!  I  don't  s'pose  a  man  that's  committed  mur 
der  '11  ever  have  any  peace  in  this  world,  nor  in  the 
next  nuther,  without  he  repents  ;  but  ye  see  this 
horse-stealin'  business  is  different.  'T  ain't  murder 
to  kill  a  hoss-thief,  any  way  you  can  fix  it;  every 
body  admits  that.  A  feller  that 's  caught  horse- 
stealin'  had  ought  to  be  shot ;  and  he  will  be,  too, 
I  tell  you,  in  this  country!" 

A  look  of  impatient  despair  spread  over  Aunt  Ei's 
face.  "  I  hain't  no  patience  left  with  yer,"  she  said, 
"  er  talkin'  abaout  stealin'  hosses  ez  ef  hosses  wuz  more 
'n  human  bein's  !  But  lettiu'  thet  all  go,  this  Injun,  he 
wuz  crazy.  Yer  all  knowed  it.  Thet  Farrar  kuowed. 
it.  D'  yer  think  ef  he  'd  ben  stealin'  the  hoss,  he  'd 
er  left  his  own  hoss  in  the  corral,  same  ez,  yer  might 
say,  leavin'  his  kyerd  to  say  't  wuz  he  done  it;  'n' 
the  hoss  er  tied  in  plain  sight  'n  front  uv  his  house 
fur  ennybody  ter  see  ? " 


470  RAMONA. 

"  Left  his  own  horse,  so  he  did ! "  retorted  Merrill. 
"A  poor,  miserable,  knock-kneed  old  pony,  that 
wa'n't  worth  twenty  dollars ;  'n'  Jim's  horse  was 
worth  two  hundred,  'n'  cheap  at  that." 

"  Thet  ain't  nuther  here  nor  thar  in  what  we  air 
^ayin',"  persisted  Aunt  Ei.  "I  ain't  a  speakin'  on  ;t 
ez  a  swap  er  hosses.  What  I  say  is,  he  wa'n't  tryin' 
to  cover  't  up  thet  he  'd  tuk  the  hoss.  We  air  sura 
used  ter  hoss-thieves  in  Tennessee  ;  but  I  never  heered 
o'  one  yit  thet  left  his  name  fur  a  refterence  berhind 
him,  ter  show  which  road  he  tuk,  'n'  fastened  ther 
stolen  critter  ter  his  front  gate  when  he  got  hum !  I 
allow  me  'n'  yeow  hed  n't  better  say  anytliin'  much 
more  on  ther  subjeck,  fur  I  allow  we  air  bound  to 
querril  ef  we  dew ; "  and  nothing  that  Merrill  said 
could  draw  another  word  out  ot  Aunt  Ri  in  regard  to 
Alessandro's  death.  But  there  was  another  subject  on. 
which  she  was  tireless,  and  her  speech  eloquent.  It 
was  the  kindness  and  goodness  of  the  Cahuilla  people. 
The  last  vestige  of  her  prejudice  against  Indians  had 
melted  and  gone,  in  the  presence  of  their  simple-hearted 
friendliness.  "  I  '11  never  hear  a  word  said  agin  'em, 
never,  ter  my  longest  day,"  she  said.  "The  way 
the  pore  things  hed  jest  stripped  theirselves,  to  git 
tilings  fur  liamony,  beat  all  ever  I  see  among  white 
folks,  'n'  I  *ve  ben  raound  more  'n  most.  'N'  they 
wa'n't  lookin'  fur  no  pay,  nuther ;  fur  they  did  n't 
know,  till  Feeleepy  'n'  me  cum,  thet  she  hed  any 
folks  ennywhar,  'n'  they'd  ha'  taken  care  on  her 
till  she  died,  jest  the  same.  The  sick  allers  ez  took 
care  on  among  them,  they  sed,  's  long  uz  enny  on 
em  hez  got  a  thing  left.  Thet  's  ther  -way  they  air 
Raised ;  I  allow  white  folks  might  take  a  lesson  on 
'  'em,  in  thet ;  'n'  in  heaps  uv  other  things  tew.  Oh, 
I'm  done  talkin'  agin  Injuns,  naow,  don't  yeow  fur- 
git  it !  But  I  know,  fur  all  thet,  't  won't  make  any 
difference ;  'pears  like  there  cudd  n't  nobody  b'leeve 


RAMONA.  471 

ennythin'  'n  this  world  'thout  seein'  't  theirselves. 
I  wuz  thet  way  tew ;  I  allow  I  hain  't  got  no  call 
ter  talk ;  but  I  jest  wish  the  hull  world  could  see 
what  I  Ve  seen  !  Thet 's  all ! " 

It  was  a  sad  day  in  the  village  when  Eamona  and 
»her  friends  departed.  Heartily  as  the  kindly  peo- 
'ple  rejoiced  in  lier  having  found  such  a  protector 
for  herself  and  her  child,  and  deeply  as  they  felt 
Felipe's  and  Aunt  Ei's  good-will  and  gratitude  to 
wards  them,  they  were  yet  conscious  of  a  loss,  —  of 
a  void.  The  gulf  between  them  and  the  rest  of  the 
world  seemed  defined  anew,  their  sense  of  isola 
tion  deepened,  their  hopeless  poverty  emphasized. 
Itamona,  wife  of  Alessandro,  had  been  as  their  sister, 
—  one  of  them ;  as  such,  she  would  have  had  share 
in  all  their  life  had  to  offer.  But  its  utmost  was 
nothing,  was  but  hardship  and  deprivation ;  and 
she  was  being  borne  away  from  it,  like  one  rescued, 
not  so  much  from  death,  as  from  a  life  worse  than 
death. 

The  tears  streamed  down  liamona's  face  as  she 
bade  them  farewell.  She  embraced  again  and  again 
the  young  mother  who  had  for  so  many  days  suckled 
her  child,  even,  it  was  said,  depriving  her  own  hard 
ier  babe  that  Eamona's  should  not  suffer.  "  Sis 
ter,  you  have  given  me  my  child,"  she  cried ;  "  I 
can  never  thank  you;  I  will  pray  for  you  all  my 
life." 

She  made  no  inquiries  as  to  Felipe's  plans.  Un- 
questioningly,  like  a  little  child,  she  resigned  her 
self  into  his  hands.  A  power  greater  than  hers  was 
ordering  her  way;  Felipe  was  its  instrument.  No 
other  voice  spoke  to  guide  her.  The  same  old  sim 
plicity  of  acceptance  which  had  characterized  her 
daily  life  in  her  girlhood,  and  kept  her  serene  and 
sunny  then,  —  serene  under  trials,  sunny  in  her  routine 
of  little  duties,  —  had  kept  her  serene  through  all  the 


472  RAMONA. 

afflictions,  and  calm,  if  not  sunny,  under  all  the 
burdens  of  her  later  life ;  and  it  did  not  desert  her 
even  now. 

Aunt  Hi  gazed  at  her  with  a  sentiment  as  near  to 
veneration  as  her  dry,  humorous,  practical  nature  was 
capable  of  feeling.  "  I  allow  1  donno  but  I  sh'd 
cum  ter  believin'  in  saints  tew,"  she  said,  "  ef  I  wuz 
ter  live  'long  side  er  thet  gal.  Tears  like  she  wuz 
suthin'  more  'n  human.  T  beats  me  plum  out,  ther 
way  she  takes  her  troubles.  Thar  's  sum  would  say 
she  hed  n't  no  feel  in'  ;  but  I  allow  she  hez  more  'n 
most  folks.  I  kin  see,  't  ain't  thet.  I  allow  I  did  n't 
never  expect  ter  think  's  well  uv  prayin'  to  picters, 
'n'  strings  er  beads,  'n'  sech ;  but  ef  t 's  thet  keeps  her 
up  ther  way  she  's  kept  up,  I  allow  thar  's  more  in 
it  'n  it 's  hed  credit  fur.  I  ain't  gwine  ter  say  enny 
more  agin  it,  nor  agin  Injuns.  'Pears  like  I  'm  gittin' 
heaps  er  new  idears  inter  my  head,  these  days.  I  '11 
turn  Injun,  mebbe,  afore  I  git  through!" 

The  farewell  to  Aunt  Hi  was  hardest  of  all.  Ra- 
mona  clung  to  her  as  to  a  mother.  At  times  she  felt 
that  she  would  rather  stay  by  her  side  than  go  home 
with  Felipe ;  then  she  reproached  herself  for  the 
thought,  as  for  a  treason  and  ingratitude.  Felipe- 
saw  the  feeling,  and  did  not  wonder  at  it.  "  Dear 
girl,"  he  thought ;  "  it  is  the  nearest  she  has  ever  come 
to  knowing  what  a  mother's  love  is  like  !"  And  he 
lingered  in  San  Bernardino  week  after  week,  on  the 
pretence  that  Ramona  was  not  yet  strong  enough  to 
bear  the  journey  home,  when  in  reality  his  sole  motive 
for  staying  was  his  reluctance  to  deprive  her  of  Aunt 
Ri's  wholesome  and  cheering  companionship. 

Aunt  Ri  was  busily  at  work  on  a  rag  carpet  for  the 
Indian  Agent's  wife.  She  had  j  ust  begun  it,  had  woven 
only  a  few  inches,  on  that  dreadful  morning  when  the 
news  of  Alessandro's  death  reached  her.  It  was  of 
her  favorite  pattern,  the  "  hit-er-miss  "  pattern,  as  she 


EAMONA.  473 

called  it :  no  set  stripes  or  regular  alternation  of 
colors,  but  ball  after  ball  of  the  indiscriminately 
mixed  tints,  woven  back  and  forth,  on  a  warp  of  a 
single  color.  The  constant  variety  in  it,  the  unex 
pectedly  harmonious  blending  of  the  colors,  gave  her 
delight,  and  afforded  her  a  subject,  too,  of  not  un- 
philosophical  reflection. 

"  Wall,"  she  said,  "  it 's  called  ther  '  hit-er-miss  '  pat- 
tren  ;  but  it  's  '  hit '  oftener  'n  't  is  '  miss.'  Thar  ain't 
enny  accountin'  fur  ther  way  ther  breadths  '11  come, 
sometimes ;  'pears  like  't  wuz  kind  er  magic,  when 
they  air  sewed  tergether ;  'n'  I  allow  thet  's  ther  way 
it 's  gwine  ter  be  with  heaps  er  things  in  this  life. 
It 's  jest  a  kind  er  '  hit-er-miss'  pattren  we  air  all  on 
us  livin'  on  ;  't  ain't  much  use  tryin'  ter  reckon  how  't 
11  come  aout ;  but  the  breadths  doos  fit  heaps  better 
'n  yer  'd  think  ;  come  ter  sew  'em,  't  aint  never  no  sech 
colors  ez  yer  thought  't  wuz  gwine  ter  be,  but  it  's 
allers  pooty,  allers;  never  see  a  '  hit-er-rniss '  pattren  'n 
my  life  yit,  thet  wa'n't  pooty.  'N'  ther  wa'n't  never 
nobody  fetched  me  rags,  'n'  hed  'em  all  planned 
aout,  'n'  jest  ther  way  they  wanted  ther  warp,  'n' 
jest  haow  ther  stripes  wuz  ter  come,  'n'  all,  thet  they 
wa'n't  orful  diserpynted  when  they  cum  ter  see  't 
done.  It  don't  never  look  's  they  thought  't  would, 
never!  I  lamed  thet  lesson  airly;  'n'  1  allers  make 
'em  write  't  aout  on  a  paper,  jest  ther  wedth  er  every 
stripe,  'n'  each  er  ther  colors,  so  's  they  kin  see  it  's 
what  they  ordered ;  'r  else  they  'd  allers  say  I  hed  n't 
wove  't  's  I  wuz  told  ter.  I  got  ketched  thet  way 
oncet !  I  allow  ennybody  's  a  bawn  fool  gits  ketched 
twice  runnin'  ther  same  way.  But  fur  me,  I  '11  take 
ther  'hit-er-miss'  pattren,  every  time,  sir,  straight 
along." 

When  the  carpet  was  done,  Aunt  Ei  took  the  roll 
in  her  own  independent  arms,  and  strode  with  it  to 
the  Agent's  house.  She  had  been  biding  the  time 


474  RAMONA. 

when  she  should  have  this  excuse  for  going  there. 
Her  mind  was  burdened  with  questions  she  wished 
to  ask,  information  she  wished  to  give,  and  she  chose 
an  hour  when  she  knew  she  would  find  the  A^ent 
himself  at  home. 

"  I  allow  yer  heered  why  I  wuz  behind  time  with 
this  yere  carpet,"  she  said ;  "  I  wuz  up  ter  San 
Jacinto  Mounting,  where  thet  Injun  wuz  murdered. 
We  brung  his  widder  'n'  ther  baby  daown  with  us, 
me  'n'  her  brother.  He  's  tuk  her  home  ter  his 
house  ter  live.  He  's  reel  well  off." 

Yes,  the  Agent  had  heard  this ;  he  had  wondered 
why  the  widow  did  not  come  to  see  him ;  he  had 
expected  to  hear  from  her. 

"  Wall,  I  did  hent  ter  her  thet  p'raps  yer  could 
dew  something,  ef  she  wuz  ter  tell  yer  all  abaout 
it ;  but  she  allowed  thar  wa'n't  enny  use  in  talkin'. 
Ther  jedge,  he  sed  her  witnessin'  would  n't  be  wuth 
nuthin'  to  no  jury ;  'n'  thet  wuz  what  I  wuz  a  want- 
in'  to  ask  yeow,  ef  thet  wuz  so." 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  the  lawyers  here  told  me,"  said 
the  Agent.  "  I  was  going  to  have  the  man  arrested, 
but  they  said  it  would  be  folly  to  bring  the  case 
to  trial.  The  woman's  testimony  would  not  be 
believed." 

"  Yeow  've  got  power  ter  git  a  man  punished  fur 
sellin'  whiskey  to  Injuns,  I  notice,"  broke  in  Aunt  Ei ; 
"  hain't  yer  ?  I  see  yeour  man  'n'  the  marshal  here 
arrestin'  'em  pooty  lively  last  month  ;  they  sed  't  was 
yeour  doin' :  yeow  was  a  gwine  ter  prossacute  every 
livin'  son  o'  hell  —  them  wuz  thar  words  —  thet  sold 
.whiskey  ter  Injuns." 

"  That 's  so  !  "  said  the  Agent.  "  So  I  am  ;  I  am 
determined  to  break  up  this  vile  business  of  selling 
whiskey  to  Indians.  It  is  no  use  trying  to  do  any 
thing  for  them  while  they  are  made  drunk  in  this 
way ;  it  's  a  sin  and  a  shame." 


RAMONA.  475 

"  Thet  's  so,  I  allow  ter  yeow,"  said  Aunt  Hi.  "  Thar 
ain't  any  gainsayin'  thet.  But  ef  yeow  've  got  power 
ter  git  a  man  put  in  jail  fur  sellin'  whiskey  t'  'n 
Injun,  'n'  hain't  got  power  to  git  him  punished  ef 
he  goes  'n'  kills  thet  Injun,  't  sems  ter  me  thar  's 
suthin'  cur'us  abaout  thet." 

"That  is  just  the  trouble  in  my  position  here, 
Aunt  Ei,"  he  said.  "  I  have  no  real  power  over  my 
Indians,  as  I  ought  to  have." 

"  What  makes  yer  call  'em  yeour  Injuns  ? "  broke 
in  Aunt  Hi. 

The  Agent  colored.  Aunt  Ei  was  a  privileged 
character,  but  her  logical  method  of  questioning  was 
inconvenient. 

"  I  only  mean  that  they  are  under  my  charge,"  he 
said.  "  I  don't  mean  that  they  belong  to  me  in  any 
way." 

"  Wall,  I  allow  not,"  retorted  Aunt  Ei,  "  enny  more 
'n  I  dew.  They  air  airnin'  their  liviii',  sech  's  't  is,  ef 
yer  kin  call  it  a  livin'.  I  've  ben  'mongst  'em,  naow, 
this  hyar  last  tew  weeks,  'n'  I  allow  I  've  hed  my 
eyes  opened  ter  some  things.  What  's  thet  docter 
er  yourn,  him  thet  they  call  the  Agency  docter, — 
what 's  he  got  ter  do  ?  " 

"  To  attend  to  the  Indians  of  this  Agency  when 
they  are  sick,"  replied  the  Agent,  promptly. 

"  Wall,  thet's  what  I  heern  ;  thet's  what  yeow  sed 
afore,  'u'  thet  's  why  Alessandro,  the  Injun  thet  wuz 
murdered,  —  thet  's  why  he  put  his  name  down  'n 
yeour  books,  though  't  went  agin  him  orful  ter  do  it. 
He  wuz  high-spereted,  'n'  'd  allers  took  keer  er  hisself ; 
but  he  'd  ben  druv  out  er  fust  one  place  'n'  then 
another,  tell  he  'd  got  clar  down,  'n'  pore ;  'n'  he  jest 
begged  thet  docter  er  yourn  to  go  to  see  his  little  gal, 
'nr  the  docter  would  n't;  'n'  more  'n  thet,  he  laughed 
at  him  fur  askin'.  'N'  they  set  the  little  thing  on  the 
hoss  ter  bring  her  here,  'n'  she  died  afore  they  'd  come 


476  RAMONA. 

a  mile  with  her ;  V  't  wuz  thet,  on  top  er  all  the  rest, 
druv  Alessandro  crazy.  He  never  heel  none  er  them 
wandrin'  spells  till  arter  thet.  Naow  I  allow  thet 
wa'n't  right  er  thet  docter.  I  would  n't  hev  no  sech 
doctor  's  thet  raound  my  Agency,  ef  I  wuz  yeow. 
IVaps  yer  never  heered  uv  thet.  I  told  Eamony 
I  did  n't  bleeve  yer  knowed  it,  or  ye  'd  hev  made 
him  go." 

"  No,  Aunt  Ri,"  said  the  Agent ;  "  I  could  not  have 
done  that ;  he  is  only  required  to  doctor  such  Indians 
as  come  here." 

"  I  allow,  then,  thar  ain't  any  gret  use  en  hevin' 
him  at  all,"  said  Aunt  Ri;  "  'pears  like  thar  ain't 
more  'n  a  harndful  uv  Injuns  raound  here.  I  expect 
he  gits  well  paid  ? "  and  she  paused  for  an  answer. 
None  came.  The  Agent  did  not  feel  himself  obliged 
to  reveal  to  Aunt  Ri  what  salary  the  Government 
paid  the  San  Bernardino  doctor  for  sending  hap 
hazard  prescriptions  to  Indians  he  never  saw. 

After  a  pause  Aunt  Ri  resumed  :  "  Ef  it  ain't  enny 
offence  ter  yeow,  I  allow  I  'd  like  ter  know  jest  what 
't  is  yeow  air  here  ter  dew  fur  these  Injuns.  I  've  got 
my  feelin's  considdable  stirred  up,  bein'  among  'em 
'n'  knowing  this  h}Tar  one,  thet  's  ben  murdered. 
Hev  ye  got  enny  power  to  giv'  'em  ennything,  —  food 
or  sech  ?  They  air  powerful  pore,  most  on  'em." 

"  I  have  had  a  little  fund  for  buying  supplies  for 
them  in  times  of  special  suffering ; "  replied  the 
Agent,  "  a  very  little  ;  and  the  Department  has  ap 
propriated  some  money  for  wagons  and  ploughs ;  not 
enough,  however,  to  supply  every  village ;  you  see 
these  Indians  are  in  the  main  self-supporting." 

"  Thet 's  jest  it,"  persisted  Aunt  Ri.  "  Thet 's  what 
I  've  ben  seein' ;  'n'  thet  's  why  I  want  so  bad  ter  git 
at  what  't  is  the  Guvvermunt  means  ter  hev  yeow 
dew  fur  'em.  I  allow  ef  yeow  ain't  ter  feed  'em,  an* 
ef  yer  can't  put  folks  inter  jail  fur  robbin'  'n'  cheatiu' 


RAM  ON  A.  477 

'em,  not  ter  say  killin'  em,  —  ef  yer  can't  dew  ennythin' 
more  '11  keep  'em  from  gettin'  whiskey,  wall,  I  'm 
free  ter  say  —  "  Aunt  Ei  paused ;  she  did  not  wish 
to  seem  to  reflect  on  the  Agent's  usefulness,  and  so 
concluded  her  sentence  very  differently  from  her 
first  impulse,  — "  I  'm  free  ter  say  I  should  n't  like 
ter  stan'  in  yer  shoes." 

"  You  may  very  well  say  that,  Aunt  Ei,"  laughed 
the  Agent,  complacently.  "  It  is  the  most  troublesome 
Agency  in  the  whole  list,  and  the  least  satisfactory." 

"Wall,  I  allow  it  mought  be  the  least  satisfying" 
rejoined  the  indefatigable  Aunt  Ei ;  "  but  I  donno 
whar  the  trouble  cornes  in,  ef  so  be  's  thar  's  no  more 
kin  be  done  than  yer  wuz  er  tellin'."  And  she  looked 
honestly  puzzled. 

"  Look  there,  Aunt  Ei ! "  said  he,  triumphantly, 
pointing  to  a  pile  of  books  and  papers.  "All  those 
to  be  gone  through  with,  and  a  report  to  be  made  out 
every  month,  arid  a  voucher  to  be  sent  for  every  lead- 
pencil  I  buy.  I  tell  you  I  work  harder  than  I  ever 
did  in  my  life  before,  and  for  less  pay." 

"  I  allow  yer  hev  hed  easy  times  afore,  then," 
retorted  Aunt  Ei,  good-naturedly  satirical,  "  ef  yeow 
air  plum  tired  doiu'  thet ! "  And  she  took  her  leave, 
not  a  whit  clearer  in  her  mind  as  to  the  real  nature 
and  function  of  the  Indian  Agency  than  she  was  in 
the  beginning. 

o  o 

Through  all  of  Eamona's  journey  home  she  seemed 
to  herself  to  be  in  a  dream.  Her  baby  in  her  arms ; 
the  faithful  creatures,  Buba  and  Benito,  gayly  trotting 
along  at  a  pace  so  swift  that  the  carriage  seemed  glid- 
ing;  Felipe  by  her  side,  —  the  dear  Felipe,  —  his  eyes 
wearing  the  same  bright  and  loving  look  as  of  old,  — 
what  strange  thing  was  it  which  had  happened  to 
her  to  make  it  all  seem  unreal  ?  Even  the  little 
one  in  her  arms,  —  she,  too,  seemed  unreal !  Eamona 
did  not  know  it,  but  her  nerves  were  still  partially 


478  RAM  ON  A. 

paralyzed.  Nature  sends  merciful  anesthetics  in 
the  shocks  which  almost  kill  us.  In  the  very  sharp 
ness  of  the  blow  sometimes  lies  its  own  first  healing. 
It  would  be  long  before  Ramona  would  fully  realize 
that  Alessandro  was  dead.  Her  worst  anguish  was 
yet  to  come. 

Felipe  did  not  know  and  could  not  have  understood 
this ;  and  it  was  with  a  marvelling  gratitude  that 
he  saw  Ramona,  day  after  day,  placid,  always  ready 
with  a  smile  when  he  spoke  to  her.  Her  gratitude 
for  each  though tfulness  of  his  smote  him  like  a  re 
proach  ;  all  the  more  that  he  knew  her  gentle  heart 
had  never  held  a  thought  of  reproach  in  it  towards 
him.  "  Grateful  to  me  ! "  lie  thought.  "  To  me,  who 
might  have  spared  her  all  this  woe  if  I  had  been 
strong ! " 

Never  would  Felipe  forgive  himself,  —  no,  not  to  the 
day  of  his  death.  His  whole  life  should  be  devoted 
10  her  and  her  child;  but  what  a  pitiful  thing  was 
that  to  render ! 

As  they  drew  near  home,  he  saw  Ramona  often 
try  to  conceal  from  him  that  she  had  shed  tears. 
At  last  he  said  to  her :  "  Dearest  Ramona,  do  not 
fear  to  weep  before  me.  I  would  not  be  any  con 
straint  on  you.  It  is  better  for  you  to  let  the 
tears  corne  freely,  my  sister.  They  are  healing  to 
wounds." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,  Felipe,"  replied  Ramona. 
"  Tears  are  only  selfish  and  weak.  They  are  like  a 
cry  because  we  are  hurt.  It  is  not  possible  always 
to  keep  them  back;  but  I  am  ashamed  when  I  have 
wept,  and  think  also  that  I  have  sinned,  because  I 
have  given  a  sad  sight  to  others.  Father  Salvierderra 
always  said  that  it  was  a  duty  to  look  happy,  no 
matter  how  much  we  might  be  suffering." 

"  That  is  more  than  human  power  can  do ! "  said 
Felipe. 


RAMONA.  479 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Eamona.  "  If  it  were,  Father 
Salvierderra  would  not  have  commanded  it.  And  do 
you  not  recollect,  Felipe,  what  a  smile  his  face  always 
wore  ?  and  his  heart  had  been  broken  for  many,  many 
years  before  he  died.  Alone,  in  the  night,  when  he 
prayed,  he  used  to  weep,  from  the  great  wrestling  he 
had  with  God,  he  told  me ;  but  we  never  saw  him 
except  with  a  smile.  When  one  thinks  in  the  wil 
derness,  alone,  Felipe,  many  things  become  clear.  I 
have  been  learning,  all  these  years  in  the  wilderness, 
as  if  I  had  had  a  teacher.  Sometimes  I  almost 
thought  that  the  spirit  of  Father  Salvierderra  was  by 
my  side  putting  thoughts  into  my  mind.  I  hope 
I  can  tell  them  to  my  child  when  she  is  old  enough. 
She  will  understand  them  quicker  than  I  did,  for 
she  has  Alessandro's  soul ;  you  can  see  that  by  her 
eyes.  And  all  these  things  of  which  I  speak  were 
in  his  heart  from  his  childhood.  They  belong  to 
the  air  and  the  sky  and  the  sun,  and  all  trees  know 
them." 

When  Eamona  spoke  thus  of  Alessandro,  Felipe 
marvelled  in  silence.  He  himself  had  been  afraid  to 
mention  Alessandro's  name ;  but  Ramona  spoke  it  as 
if  he  were  yet  by  her  side.  Felipe  could  not  fathom 
this.  There  were  to  be  many  things  yet  which  Felipe 
could  not  fathom  in  this  lovely,  sorrowing,  sunny 
sister  of  his. 

When  they  reached  the  house,  the  servants,  who 
had  been  on  the  watch  for  days,  were  all  gathered 
in  the  court-yard,  old  Marda  and  Juan  Can  heading/ 
the  group  ;  only  two  absent,  —  Margarita  and  Luigo. 
They  had  been  married  some  months  before,  and 
were  living  at  the  Ortegas  ranch,  where  Luigo,  to 
Juan  Can's  scornful  .amusement,  had  been  made 
head  shepherd. 

On  all  sides  were  beaming  faces,  smiles,  and  glad 
cries  of  greeting.  Underneath  these  were  affectionate 


480  RAMONA. 

hearts  quaking  with  fear  lest  the  home-coming  be  but 
a  sad  one  after  all.  Vaguely  they  knew  a  little  of 
what  their  dear  Seiiorita  had  been  through  since  she 
left  them ;  it  seemed  that  she  must  be  sadly  altered 
by  so  much  sorrow,  and  that  it  would  be  terrible 
to  her  to  come  back  to  the  place  so  full  of  painful 
associations.  "And  the  Senora  gone,  too,"  said  one 
of  the  outdoor  hands,  as  they  were  talking  it  over ; 
"it 's  not  the  same  place  at  all  that  it  was  when  the 
Seuora  was  here." 

"  Humph  !"  muttered  Juan  Can,  more  consequential 
and  overbearing  than  ever,  for  this  year  of  absolute 
control  of  the  estate.  "  Humph !  that  's  all  you 
know.  A  good  thing  the  Senora  died  when  she 
did,  I  can  tell  you !  We  'd  never  have  seen  the 
Seiiorita  back  here  else ;  I  can  tell  you  that,  my 
man !  And  for  my  part,  I  'd  much  rather  be  under 
Senor  Felipe  and  the  Seiiorita  than  under  the  Senora, 
peace  to  her  ashes !  She  had  her  day.  They  can 
have  theirs  now." 

When  these  loving  and  excited  retainers  saw 
Ramona  —  pale,  but  with  her  own  old  smile  on  her 
face  —  coming  towards  them  with  her  babe  in  her 
arms,  they  broke  into  wild  cheering,  and  there  was 
not  a  dry  eye  in  the  group. 

Singling  out  old  Marda  by  a  glance,  Ramona  held 
out  the  baby  towards  her,  and  said  in  her  old 
gentle,  affectionate  voice,  "  I  am  sure  you  will  love 
my  baby,  Marda  ! " 

"Sefiorita!  Seiiorita!  God  bless  you,  Seiiorita!" 
they  cried ;  and  closed  up  their  ranks  around  the 
baby,  touching  her,  praising  her,  handing  her  from 
one  to  another. 

Ramona  stood  for  a  few  seconds  watching  them  ; 
then  she  said,  "  Give  her  to  me,  Marda.  I  will  myself 
carry  her  into  the  house ; "  and  she  moved  toward  the 
inner  door. 


RAM  ON  A.  481 

"  This  way,  dear ;  this  way,"  cried  Felipe.  "  It  is 
Father  Salvierderra's  room  I  ordered  to  be  prepared 
for  you,  because  it  is  so  sunny  for  the  baby ! " 

"Thanks,  kind  Felipe!"  cried  Eamona,  and  her 
eyes  said  more  than  her  words.  She  knew  he  had 
divined  the  one  thing  she  had  most  dreaded  in  return 
ing, — the  crossing  again  the  threshold  of  her  own 
room.  It  would  be  long  now  before  she  would  enter 
that  room.  Perhaps  she  would  never  enter  it.  How 
tender  and  wise  of  Felipe  ! 

Yes;  Felipe  was  both  tender  and  wise,  now.  How 
long  would  the  wisdom  hold  the  tenderness  in  leash,  as 
he  day  after  day  looked  upon  the  face  of  this  beauti 
ful  woman,  —  so  much  more  beautiful  now  than  she 
had  been  before  her  marriage,  that  Felipe  sometimes, 
as  he  gazed  at  her,  thought  her  changed  even  in 
feature  ?  But  in  this  very  change  lay  a  spell  which 
would  for  a  long  time  surround  her,  and  set  her  as 
apart  from  lover's  thoughts  as  if  she  were  guarded  by 
a  cordon  of  viewless  spirits.  There  was  a  rapt  look 
of  holy  communion  on  her  face,  which  made  itself  felt 
by  the  dullest  perception,  and  sometimes  overawed 
even  where  it  attracted.  It  was  the  same  thing 
which  Aunt  Hi  had  felt,  and  formulated  in  her  own 
humorous  fashion.  But  old  Marda  put  it  better, 
when,  one  day,  in  reply  to  a  half-terrified,  low-whis 
pered  suggestion  of  Juan  Can,  to  the  effect  that 
it  was  "  a  great  pity  the  Senor  Felipe  had  n't  married 
the  Seiiorita  years  ago,  —  what  if  he  were  to  do  it 
yet  ? "  she  said,  also  under  her  breath.  "  It  is  my 
opinion  he  'd  as  soon  think  of  Saint  Catharine  her 
self  !  Not  but  that  it  would  be  a  great  thing  if  it 
could  be!" 

And  now  the  thing  that  the  Senora  had  imaged  to 
herself  so  often  had  come  about,  —  the  presence  of  a 
little  child  in  her  house,  on  the  veranda,  in  the  gar 
den,  everywhere;  the  sunny,  joyous,  blest  presence. 

31 


482  RAMONA. 

But  how  differently  had  it  come !  Not  Felipe's  child, 
as  she  proudly  had  pictured,  but  the  child  of  Ra- 
mona :  the  friendless,  banished  Ramona  returned  now 
into  full  honor  and  peace  as  the  daughter  of  the 
house,  —  Ramona,  widow  of  Alessandro.  If  the  child 
had  been  Felipe's  own,  he  could  not  have  felt  for  it 
a  greater  love.  From  the  first,  the  little  thing  had 
clung  to  him  as  only  second  to  her  mother.  She 
slept  hours  in  his  arms,  one  little  hand  hid  in  his 
dark  beard,  close  to  his  lips,  and  kissed  again  and 
again  when  no  one  saw.  Next  to  Ramona  herself 
in  Felipe's  heart  came  Ramona' s  child  ;  and  on  the 
child  he  could  lavish  the  fondness  he  felt  that  he 
could  never  dare  to  show  to  the  mother.  Mouth  by 
month  it  grew  clearer  to  Felipe  that  the  mainsprings 
of  Ramona's  life  were  no  longer  of  this  earth ;  that 
she  walked  as  one  in  constant  fellowship  with  one 
unseen.  Her  frequent  and  calm  mention  of  Alessan 
dro  did  not  deceive  him.  It  did  not  mean  a  lessen 
ing  grief:  it  meant  an  unchanged  relation. 

One  thing  weighed  heavily  on  Felipe's  mind,  —  the 
concealed  treasure.  A  sense  of  humiliation  with 
held  him,  day  after  day,  from  speaking  of  it.  But  he 
could  have  no  peace  until  Ramona  knew  it.  Each 
hour  that  he  delayed  the  revelation  he  felt  himself 
almost  as  guilty  as  he  had  held  his  mother  to  be.  At 
last  he  spoke.  He  had  not  said  many  words,  before 
Ramona  interrupted  him.  "  Oh,  yes ! "  she  said.  "  I 
knew  about  those  things ;  your  mother  told  me. 
When  we  were  in  such  trouble,  I  used  to  wish  some 
times  we  could  have  had  a  few  of  the  jewels.  But 
they  were  all  given  to  the  Church.  That  was  what 
the  Senora  Ortegna  said  must  be  done  with  them  if  I 
married  against  your  mother's  wishes." 

It  was  with  a  shame-stricken  voice  that  Felipe 
replied :  "  Dear  Ramona,  they  were  (not  given  to  the 
Church.  You  know  Father  Salvierderra  died;  and 


RAMONA.  483 

I  suppose  my  mother  did  not  know  what  to  do  with 
them.  She  told  me  about  them  just  as  she  was  dying." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  give  them  to  the  Church, 
dear  ? "  asked  liarnona,  simply. 

"  Why  ? "  cried  Felipe.  "  Because  I  hold  them  to 
be  yours,  aud  yours  only.  I  would  never  have  given 
them  to  the  Church,  until  I  had  sure  proof  that  you 
were  dead  and  had  left  no  children." 

Ramona's  eyes  were  fixed  earnestly  on  Felipe's 
face.  "  You  have  not  read  the  Seiiora  Ortegua's  let 
ter  ? "  she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  he  replied,  "  every  word  of  it." 

"  But  that  said  I  was  not  to  have  any  of  the  things 
if  I  married  against  the  Senora  Moreno's  will." 

Felipe  groaned.  Had  his  mother  lied  ?  "No,  dear," 
he  said,  "  that  was  not  the  word.  It  was,  if  you 
married  unworthily." 

Eamona  reflected.  "  I  never  recollected  the  words," 
she  said.  "  I  was  too  frightened ;  but  I  thought  that 
was  what  it  meant.  I  did  not  marry  unworthily.  Do 
you  feel  sure,  Felipe,  that  it  would  be  honest  for  me 
to  take  them  for  my  child  ? " 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Felipe. 

"Do  you  think  Father  Salvierderra  would  say  I 
ought  to  keep  them  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  dear." 

"I  will  think  about  it,  Felipe.  I  cannot  decide 
hastily.  Your  mother  did  not  think  I  had  any  right 
to  them,  if  I  married  Alessandro.  That  was  why  she 
showed  them  to  me.  I  never  knew  of  them  till  then. 
I  took  one  thing,  —  a  handkerchief  of  my  father's. 
I  was  very  glad  to  have  it ;  but  it  got  lost  when  we 
went  from  San  Pasquale.  Alessandro  rode  back  a 
half-day's  journey  to  find  it  for  me ;  but  it  had  blown 
away.  I  grieved  sorely  for  it." 

The  next  day  Ramona  said  to  Felipe  :  "  Dear 
Felipe,  I  have  thought  it  all  over  about  those 


484  RAAIONA. 

jewels.  I  believe  it  will  be  right  for  my  daughter  to 
have  them.  Can  there  be  some  kind  of  a  paper 
written  for  me  to  sign,  to  say  that  if  she  dies  they 
are  all  to  be  given  to  the  Church,  —  to  Father  Sal- 
vierderra's  College,  in  Santa  Barbara?  That  is  where 
I  would  rather  have  them  go." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Felipe ;  "  and  then  we  will  put 
them  in  some  safer  place.  I  will  take  them  to  Los 
Angeles  when  I  go.  It  is  wonderful  no  one  has 
stolen  them  all  these  years  ! " 

And  so  a  second  time  the  Ortegna  jewels  were 
passed  on,  by  a  written  bequest,  into  the  keeping  of 
that  mysterious,  certain,  uncertain  thing  we  call  the 
future,  and  delude  ourselves  with  the  fancy  that  we 
can  have  much  to  do  with  its  shaping. 

Life  ran  smoothly  in  the  Moreno  household, — • 
smoothly  to  the  eye.  Nothing  could  be  more  peace 
ful,  fairer  to  see,  than  the  routine  of  its  days, 
with  the  simple  pleasures,  light  tasks,  and  easy 
diligence  of  all.  Summer  and  winter  were  alike 
sunny,  and  had  each  its  own  joys.  There  was  not 
an  antagonistic  or  jarring  element ;  and,  flitting 
back  and  forth,  from  veranda  to  veranda,  garden 
to  garden,  room  to  room,  equally  at  home  and 
equally  welcome  everywhere,  there  went  perpetually, 
running,  frisking,  laughing,  rejoicing,  the  little  child 
that  had  so  strangely  drifted  into  this  happy  shel 
ter,  —  the  little  Eatnona.  As  unconscious  of  aught 
sad  or  fateful  in  her  destiny  as  the  blossoms  with 
which  it  was  her  delight  to  play,  she  sometimes 
seemed  to  her  mother  to  have  been  from  the  first  in 
some  mysterious  way  disconnected  from  it,  removed, 
set  free  from  all  that  could  ever  by  any  possibility ' 
link  her  to  sorrow. 

Ramona  herself  bore  no  impress  of  sorrow ;  rather 
her  face  had  now  an  added  radiance.  There  had 


KAMONA.  485 

been  a  period,  soon  after  her  return,  when  she  felt 
that  she  for  the  first  time  waked  to  the  realization  of 
her  bereavement ;  when  every  sight,  sound,  and  place 
seemed  to  cry  out,  mocking  her  with  the  name  and 
the  memory  of  Alessandro.  But  she  wrestled  with  this 
absorbing  grief  as  with  a  sin ;  setting  her  will  stead 
fastly  to  the  purposes  of  each  day's  duty,  and,  most  of 
all,  to  the  duty  of  joyfulness.  She  repeated  to  her 
self  Father  Salvierderra's  sayings,  till  she  more  than 
knew  them  by  heart;  and  she  spent  long  hours  of 
the  night  in  prayer,  as  it  had  been  his  wont  to  do. 

No  one  but  Felipe  dreamed  of  these  vigils  and 
wrestlings.  He  knew  them ;  and  he  knew,  too,  when 
they  ceased,  and  the  new  light  of  a  new  victory  dif 
fused  itself  over  Kamona's  face  :  but  neither  did  the 
first  dishearten,  nor  the  latter  encourage  him.  Felipe 
was  a  clearer-sighted  lover  now  than  he  had  been  in 
his  earlier  youth.  He  knew  that  into  the  world 
where  Eamoria  really  lived  he  did  not  so  much  as 
enter ;  yet  her  every  act,  word,  look,  was  full  of  lov 
ing  thoughtfulness  of  and  for  him,  loving  happiness 
in  his  companionship.  And  while  this  was  so,  all 
Felipe's  unrest  could  not  make  him  unhappy. 

There  were  other  causes  entering  into  this  unrest 
besides  his  yearning  desire  to  win  Itarnona  for  his 
wife.  Year  by  year  the  conditions  of  life  in  Cali 
fornia  were  growing  more  distasteful  to  him.  The 
methods,  aims,  standards  of  the  fast  incoming  Ameri 
cans  were  to  him  odious.  Their  boasted  successes, 
the  crowding  of  colonies,  schemes  of  settlement  and 
development,  —  all  were  disagreeable  and  irritating. 
The  passion  for  money  and  reckless  spending  of  it, 
the  great  fortunes  made  in  one  hour,  thrown  away  in 
another,  savored  to  Felipe's  rnind  more  of  brigandage 
and  gambling  than  of  the  occupations  of  gentlemen. 
He  loathed  them.  Life  under  the  new  government 
grew  more  and  more  intolerable  to  him ;  both  his 


486  RAMON  A. 

hereditary  instincts  and  prejudices,  and  his  tempera 
ment,  revolted.  He  found  himself  more  and  more 
alone  in  the  country.  Even  the  Spanish  tongue  was 
less  and  less  spoken.  He  was  beginning  to  yearn  for 
Mexico,  —  for  Mexico,  which  he  had  never  seen,  yet 
yearned  for  like  an  exile.  There  he  might  yet  live 
among  men  of  his  own  race  and  degree,  and  of  con 
genial  beliefs  and  occupations.  Whenever  he  thought 
of  this  change,  always  came  the  quick  memory  of 
Ramona.  Would  she  be  willing  to  go  ?  Could  it  be 
that  she  felt  a  bond  to  this  land,  in  which  she  had 
knowrn  nothing  but  suffering  ? 

At  last  he  asked  her.  To  his  unutterable  surprise, 
Ramona  cried  :  "  Felipe !  The  saints  be  praised  !  I 
should  never  have  told  you.  I  did  not  think  that 
you  could  wish  to  leave  this  estate.  But  my  most 
beautiful  dream  for  Ramona  would  be,  that  she  should 
grow  up  in  Mexico." 

And  as  she  spoke,  Felipe  understood  by  a  lightning 
intuition,  and  wondered  that  he  had  not  foreknown 
it,  that  she  would  spare  her  daughter  the  burden  she 
had  gladly,  heroically  borne  herself,  in  the  bond  of 
race. 

The  question  was  settled.  With  gladness  of 
heart  almost  more  than  he  could  have  believed  pos 
sible,  Felipe  at  once  communicated  with  some  rich 
American  proprietors  who  had  desired  to  buy  the 
Moreno  estate.  Land  in  the  valley  had  so  greatly 
advanced  in  value,  that  the  sum  he  received  for  it 
was  larger  than  he  had  dared  to  hope ;  was  ample 
for  the  realization  of  all  his  plans  for  the  new  life  in 
Mexico.  From  the  hour  that  this  was  determined, 
and  the  time  for  their  sailing  fixed,  a  new  expression 
came  into  Ramona's  face.  Her  imagination  was  kin 
dled.  An  untried  future  beckoned,  —  a  future  which 
she  would  embrace,  and  conquer  for  her  daughter. 
Felipe  saw  the  look,  felt  the  change,  and  for  the  first 


EAMONA.  487 

time  hoped.  It  would  be  a  new  world,  a  new  life ; 
why  not  a  new  love  ?  She  could  not  always  be  blind 
to  his  devotion  ;  and  when  she  saw  it,  could  she  refuse 
to  reward  it  ?  He  would  be  very  patient,  and  wait 
long,  he  thought.  Surely,  since  he  had  been  patient 
so  long  without  hope,  he  could  be  still  more  patient 
now  that  hope  had  dawned !  But  patience  is  not 
hope's  province  in  breasts  of  lovers.  From  the  day 
when  Felipe  first  thought  to  himself,  "  She  will  yet 
be  mine,"  it  grew  harder,  and  not  easier,  for  him  to 
refrain  from  pouring  out  his  love  in  words.  Her 
tender  sisterliness,  which  had  been  such  balm  and 
comfort  to  him,  grew  at  times  intolerable ;  and  again 
and  again  her  gentle  spirit  was  deeply  disquieted 
with  the  fear  that  she  had  displeased  him,  so  strangely 
did  he  conduct  himself. 

He  had  resolved  that  nothing  should  tempt 
him  to  disclose  to  her  his  passion  and  its  dreams, 
until  they  had  reached  their  new  home.  But 
there  came  a  moment  which  mastered  him,  and 
he  spoke. 

It  was  in  Monterey.  They  were  to  sail  on  the 
morrow,  and  had  been  on  board  the  ship  to  complete 
the  last  arrangements.  They  were  rowed  back  to 
shore  in  a  little  boat.  A  full  moon  shone.  Ramona 
sat  bareheaded  in  the  end  of  the  boat,  and  the  silver 
radiance  from  the  water  seemed  to  float  up  around 
her,  and  invest  her  as  with  a  myriad  halos.  Felipe 
gazed  at  her  till  his  senses  swam ;  and  when,  on  step 
ping  from  the  boat,  she  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  said, 
as  she  had  said  hundreds  of  times  before,  "  Dear 
Felipe,  how  good  you  are  ! "  he  clasped  her  hands 
wildly,  and  cried,  "  Eamona,  my  love  !  Oh,  can  you 
not  love  me  ? " 

The  moonlight  was  bright  as  day.  They  were 
alone  on  the  shore.  Ramona  gazed  at  him  for  one 
second,  in  surprise.  Only  for  a  second ;  then  she 


488  RAMONA. 

knew  all     "  Felipe  !    My  brother  !  "  she   cried,  and 

stretched  out  her  hands  as  if  in  warning. 

"  No  !    I  am  not  your  brother  !  "  he  cried.     "  I  will 

not  be  your  brother  !    I  would  rather  die  ! " 

"  Felipe ! "   cried   Ramona   again.     This   time  her 

voice   recalled  him   to   himself.     It  was  a  voice  of 

terror  and  of  pain. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  sweet  one  !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  I 

will  never  say  it  again.     But  I  have  loved  you  so 

long  —  so  long  !  " 

Ramona's  head  had  fallen  forward  on  her  breast, 

her  eyes  fixed  on  the  shining  sands  ;  the  waves  rose 

and   fell,  rose  and    fell,  at   her  feet  gently  as  sighs. 

A  great  revelation  had  come  to  Ramona.  In  this 
supreme  moment  of  Felipe's  abandonment  of  all  dis 
guises,  she  saw  his  whole  past  life  in  a  new  light. 
Remorse  smote  her.  "Dear  Felipe,"  she  said,  clasp 
ing  her  hands,  "  I  have  been  very  selfish.  I  did  not 
know  — 

"  Of  course  you  did  not,  love,"  said  Felipe.  "  How 
could  you  ?  But  I  have  never  loved  any  one  else.  I 
have  always  loved  you.  Can  you  not  learn  to  love 
me  ?  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you  for  a  long  time 
yet.  But  now  I  have  spoken ;  I  cannot  hide  it  any 
more." 

Ramona  drew  nearer  to  him,  still  with  her  hands 
clasped.  "  I  have  always  loved  you,"  she  said.  "  I  love 
no  other  living  man  ;  but,  Felipe,"  —  her  voice  sank 
to  a  solemn  whisper,  —  "do  you  not  know,  Felipe, 
that  part  of  me  is  dead, —  dead?  can  never  live 
again  ?  You  could  not  want  me  for  your  wife,  Felipe, 
when  part  of  me  is  dead  ! " 

Felipe  threw  his  arms  around  her.  He  was  beside 
himself  with  joy.  "  You  would  not  say  that  if  you 
did  not  think  you  could  be  my  wife^i  he  cried.  "  Only 
give  yourself  to  me,  my  love,  I  care  not  whether  you 
call  yourself  dead  or  alive  ! " 


RAM  ON  A.  489 

Ramona  stood  quietly  in  his  arms.  Ah,  well  for 
Felipe  that  he  did  not  know,  never  could  know,  the 
Ramona  that  Alessandro  had  known.  This  gentle, 
faithful,  grateful  Kamona,  asking  herself  fervently 
now  if  she  would  do  her  brother  a  wrong,  yielding  up 
to  him  what  seemed  to  her  only  the  broken  frag 
ment  of  a  life ;  weighing  his  words,  not  in  the  light 
of  passion,  but  of  calmest,  most  unselfish  affection, 
—  ah,  how  unlike  was  she  to  that  Eamona  who  flung 
herself  on  Alessandro's  breast,  crying,  "  Take  me  with 
you  !  I  would  rather  die  than  have  you  leave  ine  ! " 
Ramona  had  spoken  truth.  Part  of  her  was  dead. 
But  Eamona  saw  now,  with  infallible  intuition,  that 
even  as  she  had  loved  Alessandro,  so  Felipe  loved 
her.  Could  she  refuse  to  give  Felipe  happiness, 
when  he  had  saved  her,  saved  her  child  ?  What  else 
now  remained  for  them,  these  wrords  having  been 
spoken  ?  "I  will  be  your  wife,  dear  Felipe,"  she 
said,  speaking  solemnly,  slowly,  "  if  you  are  sure  it 
will  make  you  happy,  and  if  you  think  it  is  right." 

"  Eight ! "  ejaculated  Felipe,  mad  with  the  joy  un 
locked  for  so  soon.  "  Nothing  else  would  be  right ! 
My  Eamona,  I  will  love  you  so,  you  will  forget  you 
ever  said  that  part  of  you  was  dead  !  " 

A  strange  look  which  startled  Felipe  swept  across 
Eamona's  face ;  it  might  have  been  a  moonbeam. 
It  passed.  Felipe  never  saw  it  again. 

General  Moreno's  name  was  still  held  in  wrarm  re 
membrance  in  the  city  of  Mexico,  and  Felipe  found 
himself  at  once  among  friends.  On  the  day  after 
their  arrival  he  arid  Eamona  were  married  in  the 
cathedral,  old  Marda  and  Juan  Can,  with  his  crutches, 
kneeling  in  proud  joy  behind  them.  The  story  of  the 
romance  of  their  lives,  being  widely  rumored,  greatly 
enhanced  the  interest  with  which  they  were  wel 
comed.  The  beautiful  young  Senora  Moreno  was 
the  theme  of  the  city;  and  Felipe's  bosom  thrilled 


490  RAMONA. 

with  pride  to  see  the  gentle  dignity  of  demeanor  by 
which  she  was  distinguished  in  all  assemblages.  It 
was  indeed  a  new  world,  a  new  life.  liamona  might 
well  doubt  her  own  identity.  But  undying  memories 
stood  like  sentinels  in  her  breast.  When  the  notes 
of  doves,  calling  to  each  other,  fell  on  her  ear,  her 
eyes  sought  the  sky,  and  she  heard  a  voice  saying, 
"  Majella  ! "  This  was  the  only  secret  her  loyal,  loving 
heart  had  kept  from  Felipe.  A  loyal,  loving  heart 
indeed  it  was,  —  loyal,  loving,  serene.  Few  husbands 
so  blest  as  the  Senor  Felipe  Moreno. 

Sons  and  daughters  carne  to  bear  his  name.  The 
daughters  were  all  beautiful ;  but  the  most  beautiful 
of  them  all,  and,  it  was  said,  the  most  beloved  by 
both  father  and  mother,  was  the  eldest  one :  the  one 
who  bore  the  mother's  name,  and  was  only  step 
daughter  to  the  Senor,  —  liamona,  —  Eamona,  daugh 
ter  of  Alessandro  the  Indian. 


University  Press :  John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


RAMONA'S    HOME: 

A     VISIT    TO    THE    CAMULOS    RANCH,    AND    TO 

SCENES  DESCRIBED  BY  " H.  H." 

*» 

BY 

EDWARDS     ROBERTS. 


From   the  San   Francisco   CHRONICLE. 

CAMULOS  RANCH  (SANTA  CLARA  VALLEY), 

VENTURA  COUNTY,  CAL.,  April  27,  1886. 

IN  travelling  from  Tucson  to  the  Santa  Clara  valley  a 
marked  change  is  experienced.  Here  in  California  there 
is  not  even  a  suggestion  of  the  barren  wastes  that  are  so 
apt  to  oppress  one  in  Arizona.  From  Newhall,  where  just 
now  all  the  talk  is  in  regard  to  the  proposed  new  railroad, 
to  Camulos,  the  Santa  Clara  valley  is  a  garden.  By  the 
roadside  is  field  after  field  of  grain.  It  is  strange  there  was 
never  before  this  a  railroad  built  into  such  a  fruitful  region. 
If  I  were  an  Easterner,  and  had  never  seen  California, 
and  should  see  it  as  I  do  now,  robed  in  its  bright  spring 
dress,  sweet  to  smell,  beautiful  to  look  upon,  as  warm  and 
pleasant  as  June  is  in  New  England,  I  should  ever  after  be 
a  devoted  admirer  of  the  State,  and  could  always  be  ready 
to  believe  and  indorse  all  the  pleasant  things  said  in  regard 
to  it.  But  it  is  not  as  a  stranger  that  I  return  to  California, 
nor  do  I  seek  this  overland  route  simply  because  ol  its 
picturesqueness.  What  I  sought  is  this  which  I  have  found, 
—  the  Camulos  ranch,  the  home  of  Ramona,  whom  "  H.  H." 
created,  and  described  as  living  with  the  Senora  Moreno 
in  this  house  from  which  I  write  to-night.  Yes,  here  lived 
the  heroine  of  the  novel  which  many  call  the  American 
novel,  long  watched  for  and  now  come  at  last.  Here, 
before  the  cool,  shaded  veranda  on  which  I  sit  is  the  court 
yard ;  here  F  elipe's  room,  and  there  Ramona's,  and  there  the 
Senora's.  I  can  see  the  kitchen,  from  which  to  the  dining-room 
there  was  always  a  procession  of  children  carrying  smoking- 
hot  dishes  to  the  Senora's  table.  Where  I  am  sitting  old  Juan 
Can  used  to  lounge,  with  his  legs  stretched  out  before  him, 
and  his  dog  at  his  feet.  Near  by  is  the  south  veranda,  the 


2  RAMONA'S  HOME. 

Sefiora's  own,  on  which  opened  the  room  the  good  Father 
Salviederra  used  always  to  occupy  ;  beyond  that  is  the  garden, 
"always  a  mass  of  verdure,"  and  in  which  is  the  chapel; 
in  other  directions  are  the  olive,  almond,  and  orange  groves. 
It  is  all  as  Mrs.  Jackson,  in  her  novel  of  "  Ramona,"  describes 
it.  One  recognizes  at  once  the  various  places  where  this  and 
that  scene  was  enacted,  and  the  characters  of  the  story  become 
living  realities. 


THE   CAMULOS. 

The  Camulos  ranch  comprises  fourteen  hundred  acres  of 
farm  and  fruit  land,  and  is  about  eighteen  miles  west  of  Newhall. 
The  property  was  bought  by  the  husband  of  the  present  owner, 
who  is  constantly  reminding  one  of  the  Senora  Moreno, 
and  the  house  was  built  nearly  thirty-one  years  ago.  The  best- 
known  product  of.  the  Camulos  is  its  olives  ;  and  next  to  these 
are  its  oranges,  lemons,  and  wines.  "  The  house  was  of  adobe, 
low,  with  a  wide  veranda  on  the  three  sides  of  the  inner  court, 
and  a  still  broader  one  across  the  entire  front,  which  looked 
to  the  south.  These  verandas,  especially  those  on  the  inner 
court,  were  supplementary  rooms  to  the  house.  The  greater 
part  of  the  family  life  went  on  in  them.  .  .  .  All  the  kitchen 
work,  except  the  actual  cooking,  was  done  here,  in  front  of 
the  kitchen  doors  and  windows.  Babies  slept,  were  washed, 
sat  in  the  dirt,  and  played  on  the  verandas.  The  women  said 
their  prayers,  took  their  naps,  and  wove  their  lace  there.  The 
herdsmen  and  shepherds  smoked  there,  lounged  there,  trained 
their  dogs  there  ;  there  the  young  made  love  and  the  old  dozed." 
And  it  is  the  same  now.  The  court  is  open  on  the  east,  and 
that  side  is  formed  by  a  grove  of  orange-trees.  In  the  centre 
of  the  little  square,  set  about  with  rose-bushes  and  a  few  trees, 
is  a  small  fountain  basin  ;  and  past  this  the  maids  and  children 
pass  and  repass  a  score  of  times  a  day,  on  their  way  from  the 
dining-room,  on  the  south  side  of  the  court,  to  the  kitchen  on 
the  north.  There  being  no  hotel  in  this  part  of  the  valley,  the 
Camulos  is  often  filled  with  belated  strangers  or  visited  by 
those  desirous  of  seeing  what  an  old-time  Spanish  ranch  is  like. 
The  household  is  composed  of  nearly  twenty  people,  related 
to  the  Senora.  They  are  all  acquainted  with  Ramona,  and 
regret  not  being  able  to  show  one  the  original  of  that  lovely 
character.  "Many  who  come  here,"  I  am  told,  "  do  not  believe 
that  we  are  not  the  ones  Mrs.  Jackson  described.  They  ask 
for  Ramona  and  the  Senora  Moreno,  and  wiL  not  believe 


RAMONA'S  HOME.  3 

we  are  not  the  ones  they  wish  to  see.  We  remember  when 
Mrs.  Jackson  came.  She  did  not  remain  long;  and  our  Senora, 
who,  we  are  told,  is  so  much  like  the  Senora  Moreno,  was 
then  away." 


THE    SOUTH    VERANDA. 


The  verandas  about  the  inner  court  are  long  and  deep.  The 
grape-vines  clinging  about  the  supporting  posts  are  now  just 
coming  into  leaf,  but  the  flowers  are  all  in  bloom.  The  south 
veranda,  "  H.  H."  says,  was  a  delightsome  place.  "  It  must 
have  been  eighty  feet  long,  at  least,  for  the  doors  of  five  large 
rooms  opened  on  it.  The  two  westernmost  rooms  had  been 
added  on,  and  made  four  steps  higher  than  the  others,  which 
gave  to  that  end  of  the  veranda  the  look  of  a  balcony  or  loggia. 
Here  the  Senora  kept  her  flowers ;  great  red  water-jars,  hand 
made  by  the  Indians  of  San  Luis  Obispo  Mission,  stood  in 
close  rows  against  the  walls,  and  in  them  were  always  growing 
fine  geraniums,  carnations,  and  yellow-flowered  musk.  .  .  . 
Besides  the  geraniums,  carnations,  and  musk  in  the  red  jars, 
there  were  many  sorts  of  climbing  vines,  —  some  coming  from 
the  ground,  and  twining  around  the  pillars  of  the  veranda  ;  some 
growing  in  great  bowls,  swung  by  cords  from  th$  roof  of  the 
veranda,  or  set  on  shelves  against  the  walls.  .  .  .  Among  these 
vines,  singing  from  morning  till  night,  hung  the  Senora's  cana 
ries  and  finches,  half  a  dozen  of  each,  all  of  different  generations, 
raised  by  the  Senora.  She  was  never  without  a  young  bird 
family  on  hand  ;  and  all  the  way  from  Buena  Ventura  to  Monte 
rey,  it  was  thought  a  piece  of  good  luck  to  come  into  possession 


RAMONA'S   HOME. 


of  a  canary  or  finch  of  Senora  Moreno's  raising."  The  south 
veranda  is  still  popular.  In  the  day-time  one  sits  there  to  enjoy 
the  prospect  of  the  garden  opposite,  and  during  the  evening 
the  Senora  visits  it  and  has  quiet  conversations  with  her  people, 
or  with  visiting  friends. 


THE  RANCH-HOUSE. 

Coming  suddenly  upon  the  Camulos  ranch-house  one  might 
naturally  mistake  it  for  some  military  stronghold.  The  walls 
are  thick  and  low,  and  are  strengthened  by  heavy  buttresses, 
between  which  is  a  passage-way  to  the  cellar,  and  over  which 
have  grown  honeysuckle  vines  that  climb  even  to  the  over 
hanging  eaves  of  the  house.  It  was  on  the  south  veranda,  in 


THE    RANCH-HOUSE. 


sight  of  these  strong,  vine-clad  buttresses  and  of  the  garden, 
that  Felipe  rested  after  his  illness,  while  Alessandro  watched 
by  his  side.  The  westernmost  room,  leading  off  the  upper 
balcony  or  loggia,  was  the  room  always  given  to  Father  Salvie- 
derra.  Its  window  opens  on  the  garden,  and  the  doorway  faces 
the  east.  "  Between  the  veranda  and  the  river  meadows  .  .  . 
all  was  garden,  orange  grove,  and  almond  orchard  ;  the  orange 
grove  always  green,  never  without  snowy  bloom  or  golden  fruit ; 
the  garden  never  without  flowers,  summer  or  winter ;  and  the 
almond  orchard  in  early  spring  a  fluttering  canopy  of  pink  and 
white  petals.  .  .  .  On  either  hand  stretched  away  other 
orchards,  —  pear,  peach,  apricot,  apple,  pomegranate,  —  and 
beyond  these  vineyards.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  verdure 


RAMON  AS  HOME.  r 

or  bloom   or  fruit,  at  whatever  time  of  year  you  sat  on  the  Se- 
nora's  south  veranda." 

The  garden  nearest  the  south  side  of  the  house  is  to  nearly 
all  who  visit  the  ranch  the  most  delightful  feature  of  the  place. 
It  is  barely  an  acre  in  extent,  but  is  filled  with  trees  and  shrubs 
that  give  forth  a  rich  fragrance,  and  inhabited  by  many  birds. 
In  the  centre  of  the  garden  is  a  large,  deep  basin,  into  which 
fall  the  waters  of  a  fountain.  Around  the  rim  of  the  basin  are 
pots  of  flowers  and  curiosities  found  in  the  adjacent  fields.  To 
the  left  of  the  fountain  and  extending  down  the  east  side  of  the 
garden  is  a  long  grape  arbor,  overhung  with  vines.  It  leads 
to  the  brook  that  runs  in  the  shade  of  some  old  gnarled  willow- 
trees,  where  the  maids  are  made,  in  "  Ramona,"  to  do  the  wash 
ing  of  the  Senora's  luxurious  household.  It  was  there,  too, 
at  the  foot  of  the  arbor,  that  Alessandro  first  saw  Ramona, 
as  she  was  busy  washing  the  altar-cloth  that  Margarita  had 
carelessly  allowed  to  become  torn.  Beyond  the  brook  is  the 
Santa  Clara  River,  and  from  the  south  bank  of  that  shallow 
stream  rises  a  group  of  hills,  one  being  capped  with  a  huge 
wooden  cross,  which  "  H.  H."  says  the  Senora  Moreno  caused 
to  be  set  up,  that  it  might  serve  as  notice  to  all  passers-by  that 
they  were  on  the  land  of  a  good  Catholic.  There  is  another 
of  these  crosses  on  the  hill  to  the  north  of  the  ranch. 


THE   CHAPEL. 

To  the  west  of  the  garden  fountain  is  a  little  chapel,  so 
often  referred  to  in  "  Ramona."  Standing  in  the  shadow  of 
the  orange-trees  that  fill  the  garden,  and  overgrown  with  trail 
ing  vines  that  creep  over  the  pointed  roof  and  are  festooned 
about  the  sides  of  the  building,  the  chapel  is  a  delightful  place. 
A  shaded  gravel-walk  leads  through  the  garden  to  its  entrance, 
and  the  interior  contains  a  small  white  altar,  on  which  are 
several  choice  ornaments  and  a  statue  of  the  patron  saint  of 
the  household.  The  walls  are  hung  with  pictures  of  saints,  > 
some  of  them  admirably  well  painted,  and  with  brackets,  on' 
which  stand  vases  of  freshly  cut  flowers.  The  present  Senora 
is  a  devout  churchwoman,  and  holds  regular  service  in  her 
chapel.  She  reads  the  service  herself  as  she  kneels  before  the 
a'tar,  and  the  responses  are  made  by  her  children  and  maids. 
Whenever  a  Franciscan  Father  or  a  priest  of  the  Catholic 
Church  passes  up  the  Santa  Clara  valley,  he  is  invited  by  the 
Senora  to  visit  her  house,  and  say  mass  in  the  *chapel. 
During  such  service  the  visitor  is  robed  in  richly  wrought  vest- 


6  RAMONA'S  HOME. 

ments,  which  are  kept  in  a  chest  of  drawers  standing  near  the 
altar.  In  that  same  chest,  too,  is  the  cloth,  with  the  rent 
in  it  still  showing,  supposed  to  be  the  very  one  that  Ra- 
mona  mended,  —  a  fact  illustrating  the  remarkable  gift  Mrs. 
Jackson  had  of  observing  every  detail  of  places  she  visited, 


THE.    CHAPEL. 


and,  later,  of  using  that  information  to  embellish  her  works  and 
render  them  realistic.  She  was  at  Camulos  less  than  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  yet  her  description  of  the  ranch-house  and  of 
its  surroundings  in  "  Ramona"  is  wonderfully  perfect.  She  un 
doubtedly  saw  the  torn  altar-cloth,  and  in  her  novel  worked  the 
fact  into  the  story  in  a  most  realistic  way.  How  "  H.  H."  saw 
so  much  and  remembered  it  all  so  well  is  a  marvel.  Taking 
"Ramona"  in  hand,  one  staying  at  Camulos  can  find  almost 
every  scene  described.  There  are  the  corrals,  where  the  band 
of  Temecula  Indians  sheared  the  sheep;  the  barn  from  which 
Alessandro  took  the  saddle  on  the  night  of  his  and  Ramona's 
departure  from  the  ranch  ;  the  willows,  near  which  the  lovers 
were  surprised  by  the  Senora  Moreno  ;  and  the  thicket  of  wild 
mustard  through  which  Father  Salviederra  was  slowly  making 
his  way  when  Ramona  came  suddenly  upon  him.  No  detail 
of  construction  or  location  seems  to  have  escaped  notice. 


BELLS   FROM   OLD   SPAIN. 


Near  the  chapel,  at  the  northwest  end  of  the  garden,  stands 
a  tall  frame  of  heavy  beams  that  support  a  trio  of  bells.  They 
came  from  Spain,  and  at  one  time  were  hung  in  the  tower  of 


RAMONAS   HOME.  *r 

one  of  the  Franciscan  Missions  of  California.  The  largest  is 
cracked,  but  is  still  melodious.  It  is  used  to  call  the  people 
to  chapel.  The  one  by  its  side  is  rung  for  the  children  to 
go  to  school ;  that  above  is  the  dinner  bell.  The  support  is 
entwined  with  vines  ;  and  behind  the  bells,  a  short  distance 
away,  is  a  bright  green  olive  grove.  Listening  to  the  deep 
mellow  tone  of  the  large  bell,  and  seeing  the  Senora,  followed 
by  her  attendants,  walking  slowly  through  the  garden  to  the 
chapel,  one  can  easily  imagine  himself  in  some  foreign  country. 
It  is  all  un-American  and  strange.  The  heavy  white  walls 
of  the  house,  the  perfume  of  orange  blossoms  and  roses, 
the  organ  chants  and  faint  sound  of  prayers  recited  in  Spanish, 
recall  days  in  Spain  where,  as  here,  there  was  peace  and  quiet 
and  an  existence  altogether  romantic  and  poetical. 

The  surroundings  of  Camulos  are  now  most  beautiful  and 
attractive.  The  hillsides  are  literally  covered  with  wild-flowers 
and  thickets  of  wild  mustard,  while  the  river  winds  down  the 
long  wide  valley  like  a  silver  thread.  Lambs  and  frisky  kids 
are  bleating  in  the  corrals  ;  the  swallows  are  building  their 
nests  of  mud  under  the  eaves  of  the  barn  ;  the  almond  blossoms 
of  a  few  weeks  ago  have  fallen,  and  in  their  place  are  hairy 
little  bodies  that  daily  grow  in  size;  on  the  orange-trees  are 
clusters  of  golden  fruit  and  white  blossoms  ;  the  roses  are  in 
full  bloom  ;  the  grasses  are  green.  All  nature  is  fresh  and  fair  ; 
the  season  is  that  in  which  Ramona's  new  life  began. 


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BETWEEN     WHILES.     A   Collection   of  Stories     ....     1.25 

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"  A  NEW  GOSPEL  FOR  MOTHERS.  —  We  wish  that  every  mother  In 
the  land  would  read  '  Bits  of  Talk  about  Home  Matters,  by  H.  H.,  and 
that  they  would  read  it  thoughtfully.  The  latter  suggestion  is,  however, 
wholly  unnecessary  :  the  book  seizes  one's  thoughts  and  sympathies,  as 
only  startling  truths  presented  with  direct  earnestness  can  do.  .  .  .  The 
adoption  of  her  sentiments  would  wholly  change  the  atmosphere  in  many 
a  house  to  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  bring  almost  constant  sunshine  and 
bliss  where  now  too  often  are  storm  and  misery."  — Lawrence  (Kansas) 
Journal. 

"  In  the  little  book  entitled  '  Bits  of  Talk,'  by  H.  H.,  Messrs.  Roberts 
Brothers  have  given  to  the  world  an  uncommonly  useful  collection  of 
essays,  —  useful  certainly  to  all  parents,  and  likely  to  do  good  to  all  chil 
dren.  Other  people  have  doubtless  held  as  correct  views  on  the  subjects 
treated  here,  though  few  have  ever  advanced  them  ;  and  none  that  we  are 
aware  have  made  them  so  attractive  as  they  are  made  by  H.  H.'s  crisp 
and  sparkling  style.  No  one  opening  the  book,  even  though  without  rea 
son  for  special  interest  in  its  topics,  could,  after  a  glimpse  at  its  pages, 
lay  it  down  unread  ;  and  its  bright  and  witty  scintillations  will  fix  many  a 
precept  and  establish  many  a  fact.  '  Bits  of  Talk  '  is  a  book  that  ought 
to  have  a  place  of  honor  in  every  household  ;  for  it  teaches,  not  only  the 
true  dignity  of  parentage,  but  of  childhood.  As  we  read  it,  we  laugh  and 
cry  with  the  author,  and  acknowledge  that,  since  the  child  is  father  of 
the  man,  in  being  the  champion  of  childhood,  she  is  the  champion  of  the 
whole  coming  race.  Great  is  the  rod,  but  H.  H.  is  not  its  prophet  1"  — 
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"  Some  one  has  said  that,  if  vTie  could  open  the  mail-bags,  and  read  the 
women's  letters,  they  would  be  m^re  entertaining  than  any  books.  This  vol- 
,iine  is  an  open  mail-bag,  forwarded  from  Germany  or  Rome  or  the  Tyrol, 
The  faded  wonders  of  Europe  turn  out  to  be  wholly  fresh,  when  seen  through 
a  fresh  pair  of  eyes  ;  and  so  the  result  is  very  charming.  As  for  the  more 
elaborate  sketch  of  'A  German  Landlady,'  it  cannot  be  forgotten  by  any 
reader  of  the  '  Atlantic."  It  comprises  so  much  — such  humor,  such  pathos, 
such  bewitching  quaintness  of  dialect  —  that  I  can,  at  this  moment,  think  of 
no  American  picture  of  a  European  subject  to  equal  it.  It  is,  of  course,  the 
best  thing  in  the  volume  ;  but  every  page  is  readable,  and  almost  all  delight 
ful."—  Col.  T.  W.  HiggMson. 

"  The  volume  has  few  of  the  characteristics  of  an  ordinary  book  of  travel. 
It  is  entertaining  and  readable,  from  cover  to  cover;  and,  when  the  untrav- 
e'led  reader  has  finished  it,  he  will  find  that  he  knows  a  great  deal  more  about 
life  in  Europe  —  having  seen  it  through  intelligent  and  sympathetic  eyes  — 
than  he  ever  got  before  from  a  dozen  more  pretentious  volumes."  —  ffartford 
Courant. 

"  It  is  a  special  merit  of  these  sketches  that,  by  their  graphic  naturalness 
of  coloring,  they  give  a  certain  vitality  to  scenes  with  which  the  reader  is  not 
supposed  to  be  familiar.  They  do  not  need  the  aid  of  personal  recollection 
to  supply  the  defects  of  the  description.  They  present  a  series  of  vivid  pic 
tures,  which,  by  the  beauty  of  their  composition  and  the  charming  quaintness 
of  their  characters,  form  an  exception  to  the  rule  that  narratives  of  travel  are 
interesting  in  proportion  to  the  reader's  previous  knowledge  of  the  subject. 
In  several  instances,  they  leave  the  beaten  track  of  the  tourist ;  but  they 
always  afford  a  fresh  attraction,  and,  if  we  mistake  not,  will  tempt  many  of  our 
countrymen,  in  their  European  reconnoitring,  to  visit  the  scenes  of  which  they 
are  here  offered  so  tempting  a  foretaste."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

"  Travel  increaseth  a  man.  But,  next  to  going  bodily,  is  to  wander,  through 
the  magical  power  of  print,  whithersoever  one  will.  A  good  book  of  travel 
is  a  summer's  vacation.  This  little  book,  by  Mrs  Hunt,  is  ?.  series  of  rare 
pictures  of  life  in  Germany,  Italy,  and  Venice.  Every  one  is  in  itself  a  gem. 
Brilliant,  chatty,  full  of  fine  feminine  taste  and  feeling,  — just  the  letters  one 
waits  impatient'.,,  to  get,  and  reads  till  the  paper  has  been  fingered  through. 
It  has  been  often  observed  that  women  are  the  best  correspondents.  We  can 
not  analyze  the  peculiar  charm  of  their  letters.  It  is  a  part  of  that  mysterious 
personnel  which  is  the  atmosphere  of  every  womanly  woman."  —  Boston 
Courier. 


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"  Mrs.  Helen  Hunt  is  too  well  and  favorably  known  to  need  introduction  to 
American  readers.  Her  poems  are  among  the  most  thoughtful,  vigorous,  and 
truly  imaginative  this  country  lias  produced.  She  is  a  poet  to  the  manner  born, 
and  something  of  the  poetic  touch  and  quality  enters  into  her  prose  writings.  Her 
'Bits  of  Travel,'  published  years  ago,  gave  charming  accounts  of  places  and 
scenes  and  experiences  in  Europe.  Her  'Bits  of  Talk'  were  full  of  wise  and 
useful  suggestions  put  in  exceedingly  felicitous  ways;  they  had  the  sweetness, 
and  bloom  of  life's  morning  with  the  insight  and  practicality  of  its  mid-day.  Her 
other  books  have  each  widened  her  literary  reputation.  The  little  volume  of  '  Bits 
of  Travel  at  Home'  is  in  her  best  vein.  It  tells  something  of  New  England,  but 
is  chiefly  devoted  to  California  and  Colorado.  She  both  describes  and  paints,  and 
she  intersperses  her  sketches  of  nature  with  cha/ming  pictures  of  human  life  on 
the  frontier  and  in  the  new  communities  springing  up  there.  All  through  the 
closely  printed  book  are  delicate  little  biis  of  description,  cropping  up  like  flowers 
in  a  meadow,  which  the  reader  lingers  over,  and  the  reviewer  longs  to  pluck  for  a 
bouquet  of  quotations.  It  is  a  charming  book  for  summer  reading,  and  will  make 
many  a  dull  day  brighter  by  its  vivacity  and  beauty.  She  gives  five  sunrises  from 
her  calendar  in  Colorado,  and  closes  her  volume  as  follows :  '  O  emperor,  wilt 
thou  not  build  an  eastern  wing  to  thy  palace  and  set  thy  bed  fronting  the  dawn ! 
And  by  emperor  I  mean  simply  any  man  to  whom  it  is  given  to  make  himself  a 
home  ;  and  oy  palace  I  mean  any  house,  however  small,  in  which  love  dwells  and 
on  which  the  sun  can  shine.'  "  —  N.  Y.  Express. 

"A  charming  volume.  Those  that  remember  —  and  who  that  read  the  book 
will  forget — the  grace,  the  freshness,  the  bright,  piquant  charm  of  the  first  Bits, 
will  be  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  to  read  a  new  volume  by  a  writer  remarkable 
for  her  humor,  her  quaintness,  and  her  pathos.  Those  that  want  a  thoroughly 
enjoyable  and  entirely  fascinating  book  are  heartily  recommended  to  this."  —  Cin 
cinnati  Times. 

"The  descriptions  of  American  scenery  in  this  volume  indicate  the  imagination 
of  a  poet,  the  eye  of  an  acute  observer  of  Nature,  the  hand  of  an  artist,  and  the 
heart  of  a  woman. 

"  H.  H.'s  choice  of  words  is  of  itself  a  study  of  color.  Her  picturesque  diction 
rivals  the  skill  of  the  painter,  and  presents  the  woods  and  waters  of  the  Great 
West  with  a  splendor  of  illustration  that  can  scarcely  be  surpassed  by  the  bright- 
tst  glow  of  the  canvas.  Her  intuitions  of  character  are  no  less  keen  than  her 
perceptions  of  Nature." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 


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GLIMPSES  OF  THREE  COASTS. 

BY 

HELEN  JACKSON  ("H.  H."). 
i2mo.    Cloth.    Price,  $1.50. 


Helen  Hunt  Jackson  has  left  another  monumental  memorial  of  her  literary  lifs 
in  the  volume  entitled  "  Glimpses  of  Three  Coasts,"  which  is  just  published  and 
includes  some  fourteen  papers  relating  to  life  in  California  and  Oregon,  in  Scot 
land  and  England,  and  on  the  North  Shore  of  Europe  in  Germany,  Denmark,  and 
Norway.  The  sketches  are  marked  by  that  peculiar  charm  that  characterizes 
Mrs.  Jackson's  interpretations  of  nature  and  life.  She  had  the  divining  gift 
of  the  poet ;  she  had  the  power  of  philosophic  reflection  ;  and  these,  with  her 
keen  observation  and  swift  sympathies  and  ardent  temperament,  make  her  the 
ideal  interpreter  of  a  country's  life  and  resources.  It  is  impossible  to  analyze 
such  writing.  The  unknown  element,  the  illusive  secret,  which  is  its  charm,  es 
capes  one  like  an  impalpable  essence.  It  is  true  that  one  may  become  absorbed 
in  Mrs.  Jackson's  sketches  as  in  a  novel. 

The  papers  abound  in  these  pictured  landscapes.  Among  the  essays  here  col 
lected  are  "  Father  Junipero  and  His  Work,"  "The  Present  Condition  of  the 
Mission  Indians  in  California,"  "A  Burns  Pilgrimage,"  "  Bergen  Days,"  "The 
Katrina  Saga,"  "  The  Village  of  Oberammergau,"  and  "The  Passion  Play  at 
Oberammergau."  The  work  is  one  of  permanent  value,  and  will  be  greatly 
prized  —  Boston  Evening  Traveller. 

The  name  of  Helen  Hunt  Jackson  has  already  become  an  honored  and  revered 
one  among  American  authors.  Passing  away  in  the  prime  of  life,  when  she  was 
writing  with  most  earnest  purpose  to  reform  a  great  wrong,  every  line  now  seems 
a  precious  legacy  to  her  fellow-countrymen.  This  volume,  though  sketches  of 
travel  and  short  sojourns  in  other  lands,  is  written  with  her  characteristic  bright 
ness  and  appreciation  of  the  romance  and  beauty  of  every  phase  of  life  and  scenery. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  all  these  sketches  are  bright  and  racy,  full  of  his 
toric  reminiscence,  beautiful  descriptions  of  scenery,  and  liappy  appreciation  of  the 
habits,  character,  and  peculiarities  of  the  inhabitants  of  these  countries.  Like  all 
the  writings  of  Mrs.  Jackson,  it  is  pure  in  tone,  as  well  as  entertaining,  and  well 
worthy  a  place  in  every  library  for  young  or  old.  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

They  are  well  worth  preserving  for  their  literary  as  well  as  for  their  other  merits, 
especially  as  Mrs.  Jackson  displayed  in  this  kind  of  work  some  of  her  very  best 
qualities  as  an  author.  — Independent. 


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BETWEEN    WHILES. 

BY  HELEN  JACKSON   ("  H.  H."). 

AUTHOR  OF   "  RAMONA,"    "  ZEPH,"    ETC. 

16mo.       Cloth.       Price,      $1.25. 


"Between  Whiles"  is  something  besides  a  new  compilation  of  work  already 
known  to  us.  In  addition  to  "The  Mystery  of  Wilhelm  Riitter,"  "  Little  Bel's 
Supplement,"  "The  Captain  of  the  Heather  Bell,"  and  "The  Prince's  Little 
Sweetheart,"  all  familiar  to  us  from  the  magazines,  there  is  in  the  book  "The  Inn 
of  the  Golden  Pear,"  now  published  for  the  first  time,  and  part  of  what  was 
intended  for  an  entire  novel.  Though  understood  to  be  an  episode  of  a  much 
longer  Svory,  it  is  quite  complete  as  it  stands,  and  to  read  it  is  a  rare  pleasure. 
Seldom  is  a  short  story  so  full  of  light,  strength,  and  color;  and  one  cannot  tell 
which  to  admire  most :  the  perfect  setting  of  the  landscape,  the  entertaining 
quality  of  the  story,  or  the  keen  insight  into  natures  very  different  from  the 
author's  own.  It  is  the  history  of  two  misaUiattcts,  told  with  wonderful  spirit  and 
lightness,  and  with  great  skill  in  the  comprehension  of  the  fact  that  a  nature 
essentially  poor  and  coarse  may  ape  all  that  is  admirable  from  the  mere  spirit  of 
arch  and  ambitious  coquetry.  That  we  can  have  no  more  of  the  little  story, 
that  we  can  never  have  any  more  of  any  story  from  this  beautiful  and  versatile 
writer,  renews  the  sigh  with  which  we  look  at  the  long  row  of  books  she  gave  us 
in  the  past.  —  The  Critic. 

The  stories  are  of  varying  interest,  but  all  bear  witness  to  the  faithful  work 
and  rare  mental  endowments  of  the  writer,  one  of  whose  prominent  characteristics 
was  uniform  excellence.  The  plots  are  ingenious,  the  style  easy  and  cultured, 
the  descriptions  are  graphic,  and  the  moral  influence  is  of  the  best  kind.  — Provi 
dence  Journal. 

"  Between  Whiles  "  is  a  volume  of  short  stories  which  were  written  by  the  late 
Mrs.  Jackson.  The  beautiful,  simple,  and  entirely  unsentimental  way  in  which 
Mrs.  Jackson  sketched  her  characters  always  did,  and  always  will,  add  a  subtile 
charm  to  their  realism.  She  treats  her  heroes  or  heroines  as  if  they  were  her 
personal  friends,  and  this  relationship  between  them  is  one  of  the  many  charms 
of  her  story  which  greatly  influence  the  reader.  .  .  .  All  the  stories  are  full  of 
grace  and  sprightliness,  and  possess  the  same  subtile  charm  which  makes  the 
author's  other  works  so  charming.  —  Boston  Herald. 


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'Messrs.,  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 

Z  E  P  H. 

A    POSTHUMOUS    STORY. 

BY  HELEN  JACKSON  (H.  H.). 
One  volume.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Price,  $1.25. 


"  The  story  is  complete  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  a  few  chapters  remained  still 
to  be  written  when  the  writer  succumbed  to  disease.  Begun  and  mainly  com 
pleted  at  Los  Angeles  last  year,  the  manuscript  had  been  put  by  to  be  completed 
when  returning  health  should  have  made  continuous  labor  possible.  But  health 
never  returned  ;  the  disease  steadily  deepened  its  hold,  and  a  few  days  before  her 
death,  foreseeing  that  the  end  was  near,  Mrs.  Jackson  sent  the  manuscript  to 
her  publisher,  with  a  brief  note,  enclosing  a  short  outline  of  the  chapters  which 
remained  unwritten.  ,  .  .  The  real  lesson  of  the  book  lies  in  Zeph's  unconquer 
able  affection  for  his  worthless  wife,  and  in  the  beautiful  illustration  of  the  divine 
trait  of  forgiveness  which  he  constantly  manifested  towr.rd  her.  As  a  portraiture 
of  a  character  moulded  and  guided  by  this  sentiment,  '  Zeph  '  will  take  its  place 
with  the  best  of  Mrs.  Jackson's  work  ;  a  beautiful  plea  for  love  and  chanty  and 
long-suffering,  patience  and  forgiveness,  coming  from  one  whose  hand  now  rests 
from  this  and  all  kindred  labors."  —  New  York  Christian  Union. 

"  Although  the  beautiful  and  pathetic  story  of  Zeph  '  was  never  quite  com 
pleted,  the  dying  author  indicated  what  remained  to  be  told  in  the  few  jnwritten 
chapters,  and  it  comes  to  us,  therefore,  not  as  a  curious  fragment,  but  as  an  all 
but  finished  work.  There  is  something  most  tender  and  sad  in  the  supreme  artis 
tic  conscientiousness  of  one  who  could  give  such  an  illustration  of  fidelity  and  so 


emphasize  the  nobility  of  labor  from  her  death-bed.  These  things  that  bring 
back  the  gracious  spirit  from  whose  loss  the  heart  of  the  reading  wcrld  is  still 
smarting,  would  lend  pathos  and  interest  to  '  Zeph  '  even  if  they  did  not  exist  in 


the  story  itself.  The  creation  of  'Zeph'  is  a  fitting  close  to  a  life  of  splendid 
literary  activity,  and  it  wil!  be  enjoyed  by  those  who  believe  in  the  novel  as,  first 
of  all,  a  work  of  art,  which  can  be  made  in  proper  hands  a  tremendous  force 
for  truth  and  justice,  and  real  instead  of  formal  righteousness.  "  —  New  York 
Commercial  Advertiser. 


victory,  and  to  show  this  did  she  tell  the   story  of  Zeph.     Before  the  story  was 


sinful  creature  may  come  to  a  faith  in  a  greai.  forgiving  divine  love,  in  a  God  as 
good  as  siio  has  known  a  man  to  be,  and  so  in  her  last  hours  Mrs.  Jackson  mada 
a  brief  outline  of  the  plot  for  the  end  of  the  story.  As  her  latest  work,  this  has 
a  special  and  pathetic  interest."  —  Boston  Paily  Advertiser. 


Sold  by  all  Booksellers.    Mailed,  post-paid,  by  the  Pub* 
Ushers^ 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 

VERSES. 

BY  H.   H. 

•A  New  Enlarged  Edition.     Square  i8mo.     Uniform  with 
"  Bits  of  Talk  "  and  "  Bits  of  Travel. "     Price  $i  .00. 


"  The  volume  is  one  which  will  make  H.  H.  dear  to  all  the  lovers  of  truo 
poetry.  Its  companionship  will  be  a  delight,  its  nobility  of  thought  and  of  purpose 
an  inspiration.  .  .  .  This  new  edition  comprises  not  only  the  former  little  book 
with  the  same  modest  title,  but  as  many  more  new  poems.  .  .  .  The  best  critics 
have  already  assigned  to  H.  H.  her  high  place  in  our  catalogue  of  authors.  She 
is,  without  doubt,  the  most  highly  intellectual  of  our  female  poets.  .  .  .  The  new 
poems,  while  not  inferior  to  the  others  in  point  of  literary  art,  have  in  them  more 
of  fervor  and  of  feeling  ;  more  of  that  lyric  sweetness  which  catches  the  attention 
and  makes  the  song  sing  itself  over  and  over  afterwards  in  the  remembering  brain. 
.  .  .  Some  of  the  new  poems  seem  among  the  noblest  H.  H.  has  ever  written. 
They  touch  the  high-water  mark  of  her  intellectual  power,  and  are  full,  besides,  ol 
passionate  and  tender  feeling.  Among  these  is  the  '  Funeral  March.'  "  —  N.  Y. 
Tribune. 

"A  delightful  book  is  the  elegant  little  volume  of  'Verses,'  by  H.  H.,-« 
instinct  with  the  quality  of  the  finest  Christian  womanhood.  .  .  .  Some  wives  and 
mothers,  growing  sedate  with  losses  and  cares,  will  read  many  of  these  '  Verses' 
with  a  feeling  of  admiration  that  is  full  of  tenderness."  —  Advance. 

"  The  poems  of  this  lady  have  taken  a  place  in  public  estimation  perhaps 
higher  than  that  of  any  living  American  poetess.  .  .  .  They  are  the  thoughts  of 
a  delicate  and  refined  sensibility,  which  views  life  through  the  pure,  still  atmos 
phere  of  religious  fervor,  and  unites  all  thought  by  the  tender  talisman  of  love."  — 
Inter-Ocean. 

"  Since  the  days  of  poor  '  L.  E.  L.,'  no  woman  has  sailed  into  fame  under  a 
flag  inscribed  with  her  initials  only,  until  the  days  of '  H.  H.'  Here,  however, 
the  parallelism  ceases  ;  for  the  fresh,  strong  beauty  which  pervades  these  '  Verses' 
has  nothing  in  common  with  the  rather  languid  sweetness  of  the  earlier  writer. 
Unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  this  enlarged  volume,  double  the  size  of  that  origi 
nally  issued,  will  place  its  author  not  merely  above  all  American  poetesses  and  all 
living  English  poetesses,  but  above  all  women  who  have  ever  written  poetry  in 
the  English  language,  except  Mrs.  Browning  alone.  '  H.  H.'  has  not  yet  proved 
herself  equal  to  Mrs.  Browning  in  range  of  imagination  ;  but  in  strength  and  depth 
the  American  writer  is  quite  the  equal  of  the  English,  and  in  compactness  and 
iymmetry  altogether  her  superior."  —  T.  W.  H.  in  The  Index. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  by  the  Pub- 

Ushers^ 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Pttblications. 
A    KEY    TO   "  RAMONA." 

A.  CENTURY  OF  DISHONOR. 

A  Sketch  of  the  United  States  Government's  Dealings 
with  some  of  the  Indian  Tribes. 

By   HELEN  JACKSON   (H.  H.), 

AUTHOR   OF    "  RAMONA,"  "  VERSES,"  "BITS   OP'  TRAVEL,"  ETC. 

A  New  Edition.     I2mo.    pp.  514.     Cloth.     $1.50. 

"The  report  made  by  Mrs.  Jackson  and  Mr.  Kinney  is  grave,  concise,  and 
deeply  interesting.  It  is  added  to  the  appendix  of  this  new  edition  of  her  book. 
In  this  California  journey,  Mrs.  Jackson  found  the  materials  for  'Ramona,'  the 
Indian  novel,  which  was  the  last  important  work  of  her  life,  and  in  which  nearly 
all  the  incidents  are  taken  from  life.  In  the  report  of  the  Mission  Indians  will 
be  found  the  story  of  the  Temecula  removal  and  the  tragedy  of  Alessandro's  death 
as  they  appear  in  '  Ramona.'  "  —  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  A  number  of  striking  cases  of  breach  of  faith,  heartless  banishment  from 
homes  confirmed  to  the  Indians  by  solemn  treaties,  ar.d  wars  wantonly  provoked 
in  order  to  make  an  excuse  for  dispossessing  them  of  their  lands,  are  grouped 
together,  making  a  panorama  of  outrage  and  oppression  which  will  arouse  the 
humanitarian  instincts  of  the  nation  to  the  point  of  demanding  that  justice  shall 
be  done  toward  our  savage  wards.  .  .  .  '  H.  H.'  succeeds  in  holding  up  to  the 
public  eye  a  series  of  startling  pictures  of  Indian  wrongs,  drawn  from  a  centurj 
of  American  history."  —  New  York  Tribune. 


Mrs.  Jackson's  Letter  of  Gratitude  to  the  President. 

The  following  letter  from  Mrs.  Jackson  to  the  President  was 
written  by  her  four  days  before  her  death,  Aug.  12,  1885  :  — 

To  GROVER  CLEVELAND,  President  of  the  United  States: 

Dear  Sir,  —  From  my  death-bed  I  send  you  a  message  of  heartfelt  thanks  for 
what  you  have  already  done  for  the  Indians.  I  ask  you  to  read  my  "  Century  of 
Dishonor."  I  am  dying  happier  for  the  belief  I  have  that  it  is  your  hand  that  is 
destined  to  strike  the  first  steady  blow  toward  lifting  this  burden  of  infamy  from 
our  country,  and  righting  the  wrongs  of  the  Indian  race. 

With  respect  and  gratitude, 

HELEN  JACKSON. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    BOSTON. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 

SONNETS  AND  LYRICS. 

BY   HELEN  JACKSON. 

One  Volume.     Square  i6mo.     Cloth.     Uniform  with  Mrs.  Jackson's 
"  Verses."    Price,  $1.00.     White  cloth,  gilt,  price,  $1.25. 


This  little  volume  is  instinct  with  the  vitality  of  the  large-hearted  and  large- 
minded  woman  whose  last  work  it  contains.  No  verse  could  be  further  removed 
from  the  self-consciousness  and  artifice  of  what  is  sometimes  known  as  the  "  art 
school ; "  and,  on  the  other  hand,  no  verse  could  be  more  entirely  free  from  the 
unregulated  overflow  of  emotion.  ...  It  is  sound  in  feeling  and  in  art ;  there 
is  a  wholesome,  healthful  tone  running  through  the  whole  of  it,  from  those  earli 
est  lines  published  in  the  "  Nation,"  under  the  title,  so  full  of  meaning  to  her, 
"  Lifted  Over,"  to  that  last  splendid  address  to  death  in  "  Habeas  Corpus," 
written  on  one  of  the  last  days  of  her  conscious  life.  ...  In  the  verse  contained 
in  this  latest  volume  there  is  the  same  full-pulsed  love  for  all  things  beautiful : 
for  mountains  and  clouds,  for  blue  skies  and  wide  seas,  for  the  wild-flowers 
hidden  among  the  recesses  of  the  rocks,  and  for  the  great  stars  that,  for  human 
eyes  at  least,  mark  the  boundary  lines  of  the  universe.  There  is  no  aspect  of  the 
natural  world  from  which  Mrs.  Jackson's  large  and  masterful  nature  turned 
away  with  fear  or  repulsion.  Winter  stirs  her  imagination  no  less  than  summer, 
and  in  a  sonnet  on  "  January  "  she  invokes  it  in  lines  that  are  full  of  deep  per 
ception  of  the  beauty  that  lies  hidden  in  its  heart.  —  Christian  Union. 

The  spirit  of  the  little  book  in  which  are  brought  together  the  last  of  her 
hitherto  uncollected  pieces  is  singularly  gentle  and  winning,  and  it  will  strengthen 
the  affection  in  which  the  memory  of  "  H.  H."  is  cherished  by  many  hearts.  — 
New  York  Tribune. 


Sold  by   all  booksellers.       Mailed,   post-paid,    by   the 
publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    BOSTON. 


«H.  H.'s"  CAT  STORIES. 


LETTERS  FROM  A  CAT. 

Published  by  her  Mistress  for  the  Benefit  of  all  Cats  and  the  Amuso. 
ment  of  Little  Children.  With  seventeen  Illustrations  by  ADDIE  LEDYARIX 
Sn.all  quarto.  Cloth,  black  and  gold  cover.  Price  $1.25. 


ROBERTS  BROTHERS,    Publishers. 


«H.  //.'*"   CAT   STORIES. 


MAMMY  TITTLEBACK  AND  HER  FAMILY 

A    TRUE   STORY   OF  SEVENTEEN   CATS. 

WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS   BY   ADDIE   LEDYARD. 

Small  quarto.     Cloth,  black  and  gold  cover.     Price  $1.25. 
ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers. 


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